A  Realized  Ideal 


OF  CALIF.  UBKABY.  I/* 


A  Realized  Ideal 

BY 

Julia  Magruder 


AUTHOR  OF  "THE  VIOLET' 
"THE  PRINCESS  SONIA" 
"  MISS  AYR  OF  VIRGINIA  ' 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  tf  COMPANY 

CHICAGO  W  NEW  YORK 

MDCCCXCVIII 


COPYRIGHT,     1808,    BY 
HERBERT  S.   STONE  &  CO. 

Second  Impression 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

MISS  AYR  OF  VIRGINIA 

Second  Impression.     i6mo.     Cloth,  $ 


A   Realized   Ideal 


I 

"  Really,  Philip— " 

The  speaker,  who  had  uttered  these 
two  words  with  energy,  suddenly  broke  off. 
It  was  Gertrude  Hill,  and  she  was  speak- 
ing to  her  husband's  cousin,  Philip  Drury, 
who  lay  in  a  hammock  and  smoked  while 
she  sat  upright  and  mended  stockings. 
These  were  of  various  sizes,  to  cover  the 
feet  of  both  big  and  little  children.  Mrs. 
Hill  truly  adored  her  children,  but  it  was 
sometimes  thought  that  she  was  some- 
what ostentatiously  domestic.  There  were 
others  to  mend  stockings  for  her,  but  she 
liked  the  feeling  it  gave. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Drury,  and  waited. 

"  What 's  the  use  !  "  exclaimed  his  com- 


2132095 


A  Realized  Ideal 

panion.  "I  was  about  to  begin,  for  the 
thousandth  time,  to  remonstrate  with  you, 
when  I  remembered  what  a  waste  of 
breath  it  was.  I  wish  I  could  make  up 
my  mind  to  give  you  up  and  let  you  alone." 

"  Please  do  n't !  You  are  almost  the 
only  one  who  has  n't,  and  I  look  to  you 
to  save  me  yet.  Do  go  on  with  what  you 
were  going  to  say.  4  Really,  Philip ' — 
what  ? " 

"You  know  already  what  it  is  I  have 
always  on  my  mind  to  say  to  you,  but 
I  've  said  it  so  often,  and  you  've  given 
me  so  little  satisfaction,  that  I  wonder  at 
my  own  persistency." 

"  So  do  I,  and  I  love  you  for  it,  too ! 
You  're  a  dear.  Try  me  once  more  and 
see  if  I  do  n't  do  better.  I  'm  in  a  mood 
of  grim  honesty  to-day,  and  if  you  want 
to  get  to  the  bottom  of  things  and  of  me, 
now  is  your  chance.  This  morning's  post 
brought  me  a  letter  which  has  set  me  to 
thinking.  George  Churchill  is  going  to 
be  married !  " 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"Well!"  exclaimed  his  companion, 
with  an  intonation  in  which  satisfaction 
triumphed  over  wonder. 

"  Of  course  you  're  delighted.  I  knew 
you  would  be.  Marrying  is  the  straight 
road  to  your  favor  always.  It 's  a  differ- 
ent thing  with  me,  though.  George 
Churchill,  though  much  younger  than  I 
am,  is  about  the  most  companionable  fel- 
low that  I  know.  We  were  to  have  gone 
to  Africa  together.  There  is  nothing  left 
for  me  now  but  to  go  back  alone." 

"  Philip  Drury  !  "  exclaimed  his  com- 
panion, sitting  upright  in  her  wicker  chair, 
and  gesticulating  with  a  hand  tightly  cased 
in  a  black  stocking.  "  Go  back  to  Africa, 
indeed  !  A  man  has  no  right  to  fly  straight 
into  the  face  of  Providence  like  that ! 
What  George  Churchill  is  doing  is  the 
one  right  and  proper  thing  for  a  man  to 
do.  Instead  of  taking  him  for  an  ex- 
ample, as  you  should,  you  propose  to  fly 
right  off"  to  that  heathenish  and  outrageous 
existence  from  which  a  kind  Providence 


A  Realized  Ideal 

has  delivered  you  once.  What  do  you 
want  to  go  to  Africa  for  ?  " 

"  Big  game." 

"  Big  fiddlesticks  !  Much  you  care  for 
the  big  game  when  you  get  it.  Come, 
now,  you  promised  to  be  honest." 

"  So  I  did.  Thank  you  for  reminding 
me.  I  ought  to  confess,  then,  that  I  have 
had  hopes  of  doing  some  real  service  as  an 
explorer.  And  besides,  one  is  able  to  throw 
off  trouble  there  as  one  cannot  do  here." 

"  Trouble,  indeed  !  You  do  irritate  me. 
What  trouble  is  there  in  the  life  of  a  man, 
young,  healthy,  popular,  rich,  and  with 
everything  on  earth  to  make  him  happy, 
except  a  wife  to  preside  over  his  beautiful 
home — and  that  to  be  had  for  the  asking  ?  " 

"  But  suppose  one  sees  no  woman  whom 
one  is  inclined  to  ask  ?  " 

"  Nonsense ! " 

"  Not  nonsense  at  all,  my  dear  Gerty, 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned — experience  !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  have 
never  been  in  love  ?  " 


A  Realized  Ideal 

u  Well,  not  exactly  that,  since  we  have 
agreed  that  we  are  in  the  Palace  of  Truth  ; 
but  I  mean  to  tell  you  very  emphatically 
that  I  never  saw  a  woman  whom  I  wished 
to  marry." 

"  And  why  ?  " 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
seriously  : 

"  As  often  as  I  have  had  that  question 
put  by  my  friends  and  well-wishers — Why 
I  do  not  seek  a  wife  ? — I  have  never  given 
the  real  answer.  I  wonder  whether  you 
will  believe  me  if  I  give  it  to  you  now  !  I 
have  promised  to  be  honest,  and  I  will. 
The  reason  is  simply  this  :  I  have  carried 
about  with  me,  ever  since  I  came  to  man's 
estate,  and  even  before,  a  certain  ideal — 
distinct  and  definite,  but  so  far  unrealized. 
Where  I  got  it,  when  I  got  it,  how  I  got 
it,  I  do  not  know.  I  cannot  remember 
the  time  when  I  had  not  the  conscious- 
ness of  that  supreme  woman  in  my  soul, 
but  she  reigns  there  with  the  sway  of  an 
autocrat,  and  has  never  given  any  sign  of 
5 


A  Realized  Ideal 

an  intention  to  abdicate.  I  go  about  the 
world,  and  beauties  and  charmers  by  the 
score  are  introduced  to  me,  with  their  vis- 
ible, tangible,  actual  attractions ;  but,  as  I 
look  at  their  loveliness,  listen  to  their 
sweet  voices,  bask  in  their  smiles,  my  lady 
in  her  citadel  serenely  reigns ;  and  though 
I  have  never  seen,  heard,  or  touched  her, 
I  am  her  slave,  and  her  hold  upon  my 
spirit  never  leaves  me  for  an  instant  free." 

He  had  been  swinging  himself  gently 
back  and  forth,  smoking  idly  and  looking 
off  into  space.  As  he  ceased  speaking  he 
encountered  his  companion's  gaze,  and  it 
brought  him  back  to  reality  with  a  start. 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  that 
rigmarole  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  do  not  pretend 
to  understand.  Do  you  actually  expect  me 
to  believe  that  an  imaginary  woman  is  in 
possession  of  you,  and  is  keeping  you 
from  marrying  a  real  one  ?  " 

"  Just  that,  I  assure  you,"  said  Drury, 
simply. 

"  Why,  it 's  a  sort  of  craziness  !  Do 
6 


A  Realized  Ideal 

you   imagine  that   you  see  her  and  know 
what  she  is  like  ?  " 

"  I  do  see  her  in  a  way,  but  not  dis- 
tinctly, and  although  I  don't  know  spe- 
cifically what  she  is  like,  I  know  infallibly 
what  she  is  not  like.  She  bears  no  resem- 
blance to  any  woman  I  have  seen.  She  is 
fair  " — again  his  gaze  wandered  into  space 
— "and  she  is  not  tall,  quite  small,  in  fact, 
and  exquisitely  perfect  as  to  figure,  hands, 
arms,  feet,  shoulders,  throat!  I  can  al- 
most see  all  those,  but  the  face  is  veiled. 
I  can  see  the  color  of  her  hair — a  delicate 
pale  brown  that  I  have  never  seen  except 
in  the  hair  of  young  children.  I  have 
caught  a  glimpse  of  it  there  occasionally, 
which  has  made  my  heart  beat.  The  color 
of  her  eyes  I  do  not  know,  but  their  ex- 
pression I  do,  and  I  should  recognize  her 
instantly  by  that.  I  should  also  know  her 
voice,  though  I  have  no  suspicion  what  lan- 
guage she  would  speak.  Although  I  only 
know  her  in  imagination,  I  am  absolutely 
certain  that  she  exists  upon  this  earth  in 
7 


A  Realized  Ideal 

actual   flesh  and   blood,  and  that  my  eyes 
shall  one  day  rest  upon  her." 

He  was  growing  meditative  and  intro- 
spective again,  when  his  companion  said, 
in  a  matter-of-fact  tone : 

"  Well,  Philip  Drury,  I  always  knew 
that  you  were  queer,  but  how  queer  it  has 
been  left  for  this  day  and  hour  to  reveal  \ 
I  've  done  with  you  after  this.  You  '11 
have  to  go  your  own  way,  if  it  carries  you 
to  Africa." 

"  And  away  from  the  Altar  of  Hymen, 
etc.  ?  Well,  Gerty  dear,  it 's  just  as  well 
that  you  should  know  the  truth  about  me. 
I  have  told  it  to  you  in  sacred  confidence, 
remember,  for  no  one  else  must  have  the 
right  which  I  have  given  you  to  consider 
me  a  lunatic.  You  take  a  very  kind  and 
cousinly  interest  in  me,  and  I  am  glad 
that  you  should  know  the  most  important 
thing  about  me." 

His  companion   looked  at  him  intently 
for  a  moment.     Then  she  said, "  Are  you 
telling  me  the  truth  ?  " 
8 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"I  give  you  my  honor,"  he  said,  with 
extreme  gravity.  "  Few  indeed  are  the 
occasions  of  my  life  on  which  I  have  told 
to  any  one  a  truth  so  supremely  important  to 
myself." 

"  And  what,  then,  is  to  become  of  the 
Drury  diamonds,  the  pictures,  the  silve'r, 
the  thousand  lovely  things  which  you  have 
inherited,  to  pass  on  to  those  who  are  to 
come  after  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  those  diamonds,  in  many 
a  fond  vision  of  fancy,  adorning  the  lovely 
throat  and  hands  and  arms  and  breast  of 
my  sweet  dream-lady.  If  she  never  wears 
them,  they  remain  in  bank  where  they  are 
until  I  am  gone,  and  my  heir — whichever 
of  my  cousins  I  may  choose, — shall  see 
fit  to  bestow  them  along  with  all  the  rest." 

"  Do  you  believe  yourself  to  be  quite 
sane  in  mind  ?  " 

"  I  do,  while  I  remain  true  to  this  ideal. 

If  I  should  be   false  to  it — if,  after    the 

beatific  vision  I  have  had  revealed   to  my 

spiritual  sight,  I  should   make  a  compro- 

9 


A  Realized  Ideal 

mise  with  my  ideal  self  and  descend  to 
lower  things,  I  should  feel  inclined  to 
doubt  my  sanity  then." 

"  To  be  as  frank  with  you  as  you  have 
been  with  me,  I  doubt  it  now,"  said  his 
companion;  "  but  there  's  no  use  in  dis- 
cussing it  further.  Tell  me  about  George 
Churchill.  Who  is  the  girl,  and  when  is 
the  marriage  to  be,  and  where  ?  " 

"  She  is  an  American  whom  he  met 
abroad.  She  was  traveling  with  some  rel- 
atives. Her  parents  are  dead.  Her  name 
is  Sybil  Cloude.  The  marriage  is  to  take 
place  almost  immediately,  in  England,  and 
I  am  calmly  asked  to  cross  the  ocean  to  be 
best  man." 

"  Foolishness !  You  had  much  better 
stay  at  home,  look  up  that  old  law  diploma, 
open  your  office  in  New  York,  and  settle 
down  to  work — and  marriage !  " 

"  Not  yet  awhile,  Gerty.  It  may  come 
ultimately,  for  my  ideal  lady  may  material- 
ize and  may  not  scorn  me.  I  must  go  to 
George's  wedding.  It  would  n't  do  to  dis- 


A  Realized  Ideal 

appoint  him.  I  'm  not  fond  of  weddings. 
Nothing  short  of  doing  this  service  to 
George  would  take  me  to  one  now.  To 
tell  the  whole  truth — since  I  've  made  you 
my  confessor — I  have  a  certain  precon- 
ceived ideal  of  a  face  behind  a  bride's  veil, 
and  I  feel  disinclined  to  see  any  other 
there.  No  doubt  this  seems  to  you  a  per- 
fectly insane  idea." 

"It  does,  indeed,"  his  companion  an- 
swered, u  quite  on  a  par  with  the  rest! 
I  'm  grateful  for  your  confidence,  Philip, 
but  I  must  say  I  am  disappointed  in  you." 

"  Poor  Gerty  !  It 's  too  bad,"  said  Drury, 
and  he  looked  candidly  into  her  face  and 
shook  his  head,  as  if  in  regretful  but  final 
denial  of  her  hopes. 


ii 


II 


In  due  course  of  time  Drury  crossed 
the  ocean  to  render  the  last  sad  rites  to 
his  bachelor  friend.  He  made  no  protest, 
of  course,  but  it  seemed  a  pity  to  him 
that  such  a  charming,  dashing,  young 
fellow  as  George  Churchill  should  be  lost 
to  the  world  by  early  marriage. 

Drury's  talk  with  Gertrude  Hill  had 
been,  in  a  sense,  a  self-revelation  to  him. 
He  had  never  so  well  understood  the  defi- 
nite barrier  that  stood  between  him  and 
matrimony  as  since  he  had  put  his  case  in 
articulate  words. 

All  the  way  over  on  the  steamer  he 
watched  with  critical  observation  the 
charming  young  women  of  various  nations 
who  were  his  traveling  companions,  and 
compared  them  to  the  lady  of  his  vision, 


A  Realized  Ideal 

to  their  great  and  final  detriment.  The 
very  fact  of  his  friend's  marriage  seemed 
to  make  him  the  more  adverse  to  matri- 
mony, and  every  hour  he  felt  more  in- 
clined to  brave  the  opposition  of  his 
friends  and  return  to  Africa.  He  had 
been  there  once,  and  besides  much  adven- 
ture he  had  done  some  service  as  an  ex- 
plorer, and  he  felt  fully  repaid  for  the 
dangers  through  which  he  had  passed,  as 
well  as  for  a  tedious  attack  of  fever  which 
it  had  taken  him  a  year  to  recover  from. 

He  had  brought  a  very  exquisite  pres- 
ent for  George's  bride,  a  collar  made  of 
strings  of  pearls,  interrupted  at  intervals 
by  diamond  clasps,  of  very  beautiful  work- 
manship. It  seemed  almost  lovely  enough 
for  the  ideal  lady,  he  thought,  but  the 
Drury  diamonds  were  reserved  for  her, 
and  no  one  else  during  his  lifetime  should 
ever  wear  them.  That  fact  seemed  to 
him  now  more  definite  than  ever. 

Rather  shrinking  from  the  thought  of  a 
too  extended  view  of  George's  bliss,  Drury 


A  Realized  Ideal 

had  cut  himself  rather  short  as  to  time, 
and  a  spell  of  bad  weather  made  it  doubt- 
ful for  awhile  whether  he  would  be  on 
hand  for  the  marriage.  As  it  turned  out 
he  barely  accomplished  it,  arriving  only  an 
hour  or  so  before  the  set  time — too  late 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  bride- 
elect. 

George,  of  course,  was  overjoyed  to  see 
him,  and  declared  that  since  he  had  ar- 
rived there  was  nothing  wanting  to  his 
complete  and  perfect  happiness.  He  looked 
the  very  ideal  of  a  joyous  and  confident 
bridegroom,  and  of  course  talked  endlessly 
of  the  beauty,  grace,  charm,  accomplish- 
ments, etc.,  of  the  bride-to-be.  The  neck- 
lace delighted  him. 

"  The  loveliest  thing  I  ever  saw,"  he 
said.  "By  Jove!  she  shall  be  married  in 
it,"  and  he  sent  it  to  her,  with  a  request  to 
this  effect  hastily  scribbled  on  a  card. 

The  excess  of  his  vitality  had  a  some- 
what depressing  effect  upon  Drury.  He 
felt  anxious  to  get  through  with  this  wed- 


A  Realized  Ideal 

ding  ceremonial — to  have  it  over.  As  he 
dressed  for  the  wedding  he  reproached 
himself  for  not  being  in  a  gayer  mood ; 
but  his  friend,  supremely  content  in  him- 
self and  his  present  condition,  saw  nothing 
outside  his  own  happiness. 

The  hour  arrived.  The  two  men  drove 
together  to  the  church,  and  waited  in  the 
vestry -room.  In  spite  of  some  appear- 
ances to  the  contrary,  Drury  had  an  affec- 
tionate nature,  and  his  heart  was  very  ten- 
der over  the  unclouded  joy  of  this  young 
being  who  had  chosen  him  out  of  all  the 
world  to  be  his  friend  of  friends.  They  were 
strongly  a  contrast  to  one  another,  the 
bridegroom,  slight,  blonde,  and  joyous- 
looking  as  any  youth  from  Arcady,  and  his 
friend  older,  larger,  stronger,  darker,  with 
a  skin  bronzed  by  African  exposure,  and 
muscles  toughened  by  the  endurance  of 
hardships  and  danger.  The  choice  be- 
tween them  would  have  to  depend  upon 
the  taste  of  the  beholder. 

They  entered  the  chancel  together,  and 
is 


A  Realized  Ideal 

stood  in  silence  while  the  sonorous  chords 
of  Wagner's  wedding-march  were  struck 
on  the  organ,  and  the  air  grew  vibrant 
with  its  triumph. 

The  clergyman  was  in  his  place  wait- 
ing, as  they  waited  also,  for  the  coming  of 
the  bride.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the 
odor  of  myriads  of  roses.  The  pews  in 
front  of  them  were  filled  with  a  hushed 
and  absorbed  crowd,  whose  fans  fluttered, 
stirring  sweet  odors.  The  various  colors 
of  dresses  and  bonnets  and  ribbons  were 
massed  in  a  wide-reaching,  particolored 
blur,  down  the  middle  of  which  the  bridal 
procession  now  slowly  advanced. 

These  figures  also  seemed  to  make  a 
blur,  men  in  black  with  white  favors,  girls 
in  pink  with  masses  of  roses,  all  blended 
together  without  distinction,  until,  as  they 
fell  apart  to  right  and  left,  there  appeared 
in  their  midst  a  figure  in  pure  vaporous 
white,  into  whose  eyes  for  one  instant 
Drury  looked,  as  she  took  her  place  beside 
George  Churchill,  to  be  made  his  wife. 
16 


A  Realized  Ideal 

And  Philip  Drury — for  custom  is  strong 
and  civilization  has  done  its  work — stood 
calmly  by,  and  did  his  passive  part,  and 
saw  the  woman  to  whom  all  the  currents 
of  his  being  were  suddenly  set  as  in  a 
stream  of  fire,  give  her  vows  to  the  man 
who  was  his  friend,  until  death  should 
them  part !  For  this  woman,  standing  so 
near  him  and  uttering  this  pledge,  had 
looked  at  him  with  the  face  of  his  ideal, 
and  was  speaking  in  her  voice  ! 

Was  that  face  beautiful  ?  Was  that  voice 
sweet  ?  He  did  not  know.  He  knew  only 
that  it  was  the  supreme  woman,  the  being 
foreordained  for  the  highest  worship  of  his 
soul,  the  eternal  allegiance  of  his  love ! 
Whatever  the  attitude  of  her  body,  soul, 
and  spirit  might  be  to  other  men  and 
women,  he  knew  his  attitude  toward  her, 
and  without  word  or  sign  he  made  a  spon- 
taneous pledge  of  his  fealty  to  her  through 
life  and  until  death.  At  the  same  instant 
she  was  plighting  her  faith  to  his  friend ! 

He  heard  her  say,  "  I,  Sybil,  take  thee, 


A  Realized  Ideal 

George,"  and  he  realized  the  solemn  obli- 
gation of  her  pledge.  He  knew  that  it 
bound  him,  too,  but  he  also  knew  that 
beyond  contravention  or  possibility  of 
mistake  this  was  the  woman  for  whom  he 
had  waited,  for  whom  he  should  now  go 
forever  lonely  and  unsatisfied  !  He  had 
always  known  that  he  would  recognize 
her  instantly  when  his  eyes  should  rest 
upon  her.  He  had  always  wondered  that 
men  could  be  satisfied  to  have  that  revela- 
tion come  to  them  by  slow  experience, 
and  he  felt  a  sense  of  triumph  in  the  sud- 
denness and  decisiveness  with  which  it 
had  now  come  to  him. 

He  was  not  a  coxcomb,  and  not  for  one 
instant  did  he  dream  or  hope  that  this 
recognition  might  be  mutual.  She  was 
now  become  George  Churchill's  wife,  and 
he  could  and  did  wish  them  both  happi- 
ness; but  none  the  less  she  was  his,  he 
felt,  in  a  way  in  which  she  could  not  pos- 
sibly be  another's !  She  had  been  super- 
naturally  revealed  to  him  before  he  had 
18 


A  Realized  Ideal 

ever  seen  or  heard  of  her.  She  was  his 
ideal  lady,  seen  in  dreams  so  long,  and  now 
before  him  in  the  flesh  at  last. 

He  heard  the  words  of  lifelong  bondage 
uttered,  and  it  was  his  lady's  voice  which 
gave  her  pledge  to  another.  He  saw 
George  Churchill  place  the  wedding-ring 
upon  a  hand  which  was  the  fair  identical 
of  what  his  dream  had  shown  him.  Her 
figure,  small,  delicate,  and  of  an  exquisite 
grace,  was  powerfully  familiar  to  him,  and 
her  motions,  when  she  turned  her  back 
and  went  off"  down  the  aisle  upon  her  hus- 
band's arm,  were  just  as  he  had  seen  them 
all  these  years.  He  had  had  no  vision  of 
her  face,  and  yet  it  was  not  unfamiliar  to 
him,  in  that  it  was  the  absolute  fulfillment 
of  his  desire — the  one  face  that  he  had 
ever  seen  in  which  his  soul  was  satisfied. 

George  had  told  him  that  he  was  to 
kiss  her  when  introduced,  and  to  call  her 
Sybil.  But  kiss  her,  on  the  sufferance 
of  another  man,  he  could  not !  When 
the  ardent  bridegroom  drew  him  forward, 


A  Realized  Ideal 

on  their  return  to  the  house,  and  said,  elo- 
quently, "Sybil,  this  is  Philip,"  he  took  the 
little  hand  that  seemed  in  some  wonder- 
ful, spiritual  way  to  be  his  own,  and  said, 
looking  deep  into  her  upturned  eyes : 

"Yes,  Sybil,  I  am  Philip.  I  have 
dreamed  and  imagined  about  you  for  a 
long  time.  I  am  very  happy  to  look  upon 
you  in  reality."  And  all  the  time  he  was 
thinking,  "  You  do  n't  know  it,  but  you  are 
mine,  by  a  right  you  cannot  question." 

It  gave  him  a  sense  of  delight  to  see  the 
jewel  he  had  given  her  clasped  close 
around  her  throat,  as  if  he  held  her  by  a 
sort  of  bond.  She  spoke  of  it  and  praised 
its  beauty,  thanking  him.  He  listened 
and  said  nothing,  but  he  thought,  "  Why 
should  you  thank  me  ?  It  is  yours,  and  I 
and  all  of  mine  are  yours.  The  Drury 
diamonds  are  not  worthy  of  you,  but  they 
are  yours,  and  shall  not  be  another's  while 
I  live  !  " 

It  was  evident  that  the  bridegroom 
made  an  effort  to  keep  other  friends  at 

20 


A  Realized  Ideal 

bay,  so  that  the  bride  might  give  her  first 
attention  to  his  friend,  and  as  she  did  so, 
looking  at  and  speaking  to  him  with  a  fer- 
vid interest,  he  was  almost  silent.  He 
spoke  only  such  uttered  words  as  conven- 
tion required,  but  he  looked  at  her  as  if  to 
absorb  her  being  into  his  mind  and  his 
vision,  laying  in  store  memories  from  this 
hour  which  might  be  his  companion  and 
consolation  in  all  the  loneliness  to  come. 

Drury  knew  himself  by  this  period  of 
his  life,  and  he  quite  realized  that  he  must 
not  see  her  again.  She  was  too  divinely 
dear,  too  subtly  sweet !  He  was  at  no 
pains  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  her. 
He  felt  that  he  cared  little  what  she 
thought  of  him.  It  was  all  a  matter  of 
fate.  Fate  had  led  him  to  the  lady  of  his 
dream  at  this  strange  time  of  her  life,  and 
fate  would  do  the  rest. 

Every  word  she  uttered,  every  glance  of 
her  eye,  every  movement  of  her  body,  was 
so  absolutely  the  expression  of  herself,  the 
natural  fulfillment  of  his  ideal  of  her,  that 

21 


A  Realized  Ideal 

there  was  no  element  of  surprise,  only 
completeness  and  satisfaction  in  it  all. 

And  yet,  had  his  ideal  not  been  an  hum- 
ble one  ?  He  had  dreamed  of  exquisite 
grace  and  goodness  and  beauty  and  sweet- 
ness, and  here  before  him  they  were  !  He 
had  dreamed  of  an  ethereal  delicacy  of 
nature  and  of  physique,  and  they  were 
here  !  She  fulfilled  his  dreams,  but  she 
went  beyond  them,  too,  for  his  imagina- 
tion had  not  been  equal  to  a  conception 
of  so  gracious  and  lovely  a  presence.  He 
saw  that  her  nature  was  a  graver  one  than 
her  husband's,  her  mind  deeper,  her  spirit 
broader.  Her  face,  too,  in  comparison  with 
his,  was  very  serious,  as  if  not  even  the 
joy  of  this  moment  could  eclipse  the  ha- 
bitual grave  and  tender  thoughts  which 
occupied  her  mind. 

With  George,  however,  there  was  noth- 
ing but  the  present.  He  had  given  up  his 
whole  being  to  it,  as  plainly  as  she  had 
reserved  a  part  of  hers. 

But  about  one  thing  there  could  be  no 

22 


A  Realized  Ideal 

mistake,  and  that  was  her  love  for  her 
charming  young  husband.  Drury  saw  that 
this  was  so.  He  knew  it  to  be  the  only 
means  of  happiness  to  either  of  them,  and 
he  was  glad. 

When  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  give 
way  to  others  who  came  to  pay  their  trib- 
ute to  the  bride,  he  managed  still  to  linger 
near  and  watch  her. 

How  strange  he  felt !  This  was  the 
being  for  whom  he  had  waited  all  his  life 
with  perfect  faith  that  she  would  come — 
and  it  was  so  that  she  had  come  at  last ! 
Every  word  she  spoke  to  kinsfolk,  acquaint- 
ance or  friend,  every  kiss,  and  smile,  and 
handshake,  seemed  to  be  of  her  own  es- 
sence, and  explicitly  what  he  would  have 
expected  and  desired. 

As  he  stood  apart  and  looked  at  her,  he 
saw  that  she  was  very  lovely,  not  fault- 
lessly beautiful,  but  something  far  more. 
Her  hair — that  delicate  pale  brown  hair 
which  he  had  had  a  vision  of ! — was  drawn 
backward  from  her  face,  round  which  it 
23 


A  Realized  Ideal 

grew  in  five  definite  and  charming  little 
points.  Her  eyes,  a  clear,  soft  brown, 
were  beautiful  in  themselves,  and  were  set 
in  her  head  in  a  peculiar  and  exquisite 
way  which  gave  her  an  expression  like 
that  in  early  pictures  of  the  saints  and 
madonnas.  Her  features,  whether  classic 
or  not,  were  in  divine  conformity  to  his 
dreams  of  beauty,  and  her  smile,  he  knew 
in  his  heart,  could  never  again  be  equaled 
for  sweetness  and  for  charm. 

An  overwhelming  sense  of  loneliness 
oppressed  him.  He  felt  that  life's  chief 
treasure  and  reward  were  not  for  him,  and 
that  he  must  get  away  to  himself,  and  look 
the  future  in  the  face,  and  see  what  he 
could  make  of  his  changed  life. 

A  little  later  he  was  called  to  go  off 
with  the  bridegroom  to  make  ready  for  the 
wedding  journey. 

It  was  well  and  right  that  the  new-made 
husband  should  be  happy,  but  the  quality 
of  his  joy  grated  on  Drury. 

u  How  old  are  you,  George  ? — I  forget," 
24 


A  Realized  Ideal 

he  said,  suddenly,  as  the  bridegroom  stood 
equipped  before  him. 

"  Twenty-four,  and  Sybil  is  just  the 
same — less  than  a  month  younger  than  I 
am.  She  says  she  used  to  think  that 
she  would  like  to  marry  an  older  man,  but 
that  now  she  wishes  that  she  had  been 
precisely  one  month  older  herself.  The 
fact  is,  she's  ages  older  than  I  am  in  mind 
and  in  real  knowledge,  and  she  '11  do  me 
a  lot  of  good,  I  know.  I  '11  do  the  same 
for  her,  however.  She's  very  nearly  per- 
fect, but  she  's  a  little  too  grave,  and  given 
to  taking  things  and  people  seriously.  I'll 
have  to  get  her  out  of  all  that." 

These  words,  so  lightly  spoken,  had  an 
effect  on  Drury  which  would  have  filled 
the  speaker  with  surprise,  could  he  have 
known  it.  He  was  positively  outraged 
that  George  Churchill,  this  whipper-snap- 
per, should  presume  to  criticise  the  lady 
most  lovely;  and  that  he  should  assume 
the  position  toward  her  of  mentor  and  re- 
former, and  propose  to  change  her  in  con- 
25 


A  Realized  Ideal 

formity  to  his  ignorant  ideals,  seemed  to 
be  a  thing  to  make  the  stones  cry  out. 

The  stones,  however,  held  their  peace, 
and  so  did  he!  He  would  have  liked  to 
throw  this  presumptuous  lad  out  of  the 
window,  but  civilization  prevailed  again. 
George  Churchill  was  all  very  well,  con- 
sidered as  a  charming  boy  whom  he,  as  an 
older  man,  made  a  sort  of  favorite  and 
companion  of;  but  viewed  as  the  self  assert- 
ing husband  of  this  nymph,  this  seraph, 
this  mysterious  Sybil,  Drury  felt  offended 
to  the  soul. 

He  was  very  silent  as  they  drove  along, 
but  George  himself  was  too  full  of  garrulous 
talk  to  notice  that.  At  last  they  came  into 
the  presence  of  the  bride,  whom  they  found 
dressed  and  waiting  for  them. 

The  two  men  looked  at  her,  each  after 
his  kind — one  with  glee,  the  other  with 
worship. 

Her  gray  traveling  dress  was  made  so 
plainly  that  it  left  her  figure  as  free  from 
ornamentation  and  adornment  as  the  ar- 
26 


A  Realized  Ideal 

rangement  of  her  hair  left  her  face.  She 
was  a  little  creature,  so  slight  and  girlish 
that  she  would  have  looked  far  younger 
than  her  age  but  for  the  expression  of  her 
eyes.  Those  eyes,  however,  with  their 
somewhat  heavy  lids  and  deep,  peculiar 
setting,  were  made  to  be  plaintive,  and 
perhaps  no  excess  of  joy  could  cause  them 
to  look  otherwise. 

It  was  not  a  surprise  to  Drury  to  hear 
that  she  played  the  violin,  but  the  way  in 
which  this  knowledge  came  to  him  added 
another  shock  to  those  which  this  day's 
experience  had  already  given  him. 

A  servant  was  carrying  bags,  rugs,  etc., 
to  the  carriage,  when  some  one  said,  sud- 
denly: 

"  Why,  Sybil,  where  's  your  violin  ?  I 
did  n't  think  even  a  husband  could  replace 
that." 

Drury  saw  that  she  flushed  slightly  as 
she  said: 

"  I  'm  going  to  leave  it." 

"  By  special  request,"  said  Churchill, 
27 


A  Realized  Ideal 

laughing.  "  Do  you  suppose  I  am  going 
to  have  her  mooning  over  the  violin,  when 
I  want  her  to  moon  over  me  ? "  he  added 
in  an  aside  to  Drury.  "That's  not  my 
idea  of  a  honeymoon." 

He  laughed  at  his  joke,  but  it  seemed 
to  Drury  so  absolutely  offensive  that,  for 
the  first  time,  he  asked  himself  whether  it 
might  not  be  that  this  attractive  young 
fellow  had  a  streak  of  coarseness  in  him. 

Strong  as  were  these  various  currents 
of  feeling  in  Drury's  heart,  there  was  a 
yet  more  significant  one  which  dominated 
now.  He  had  been  long  in  meeting  his 
ideal ;  the  meeting  had  been  brief  and 
superficial,  and  now  the  parting  was  at 
hand,  a  parting  which  by  his  own  decree 
was  to  be  eternal.  He  could  not  bear  to 
see  Sybil  again. 

When  she  came  and  put  her  little  hand 
— by  some  chance  ungloved  —  into  his,  to 
say  good-by,  she  never  dreamed  that  what 
was  to  her  a  mere  friendly  leave-taking 
was  to  him  a  tragedy. 
28 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"  We  are  going  to  see  a  great  deal  of 
you  in  the  future,  are  n't  we  ?  "  she  said. 
"  That  is  one  of  the  good  things  George 
has  promised  me.  You  do  not  know 
how  large  a  part  you  have  played  in  our 
intercourse.  He  has  often  told  me  that 
he  believed  that  he  won  me  by  his  de- 
scriptions of  you  !  -" 

She  laughed  in  sheer  mockery  of  this 
thought,  and  he  was  aware  that,  as  she  left 
her  hand  in  his,  she  had  a  prompting  of 
real  affectionateness  toward  him.  This, 
however,  was  of  so  vicarious  a  nature  that 
he  felt  no  pleasure  in  it.  He  was  only  of 
importance  to  her  as  her  husband's  friend, 
and  that  touch  upon  his  palm  seemed  to 
leave  his  heart  more  desolate. 

It  was  soon  gone,  and  he  was  standing 
on  the  steps  straining  his  eyes  after  the 
carriage  which  was  to  bear  her  out  of  his 
sight  forever  ! 


29 


Ill 

Drury  carried  out  his  plan  and  went  to 
Africa.  The  scheme  of  the  expedition 
differed  radically  from  the  former  one, 
being  more  important  in  its  aim  and  vastly 
more  dangerous. 

If  young  Mrs.  Churchill  could  have 
known  how  significant  a  factor  she  was 
in  all  this  it  would  have  filled  her  with  a 
surprise  which  nothing  short  of  a  knowl- 
edge of  Drury's  secret  attitude  toward  her 
could  have  done  away  with. 

Heretofore  Drury's  public-spiritedness 
and  love  of  adventure  had  been  in  a  meas- 
ure subservient  to  the  common  human 
ends  with  reference  to  which  most  men 
shape  their  lives.  His  friends  and  rela- 
tives accused  him  of  indifference  to  their 
hopes  and  wishes  concerning  him,  but  in 
3o 


A  Realized  Ideal 

reality  he  had  looked  forward  to  ultimate 
conformity  and  a  settling  down  to  mar- 
riage and  an  ordinary  man's  existence. 
This,  however,  was  in  the  days  of  the  un- 
realized ideal;  but  now  that  he  had  seen 
her  in  the  flesh,  and  had  given  his  services 
in  making  her  the  wife  of  another  man, 
the  face  of  all  life  was  changed  for  him. 
He  would  have  owned  without  hesitation 
that  he  held  life's  greatest  reward  to  be 
the  possession  of  the  perfect  woman  for 
his  wife;  but  now  that  that  unique  crea- 
ture was  married  to  another  man,  the  best 
he  saw  possible  for  him  was  the  effort  to 
carry  out  certain  suggestions  which  had 
come  into  his  mind  during  his  former  Af- 
rican expedition.  This  was  rendered 
the  more  practical  by  the  fact  that  he  no 
longer  had  any  incentive  to  preserve  intact 
the  fortune  which  he  had  inherited,  since  he 
should  have  no  descendants  to  leave  it  to. 
Accordingly  he  fitted  out  an  expedition 
at  his  own  expense,  and  sailed  for  the 
dark  continent  in  pursuance  of  a  carefully 


A  Realized  Ideal 

considered  plan,  by  which  he  hoped  to 
make  some  explorations  which  would  be 
of  signal  importance  to  science  and  mod- 
ern progress. 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Church- 
ill went  to  housekeeping  in  one  of  the 
suburbs  of  New  York,  and  life  for  them, 
as  well  as  for  Drury,  seemed  to  have  taken 
its  final  and  definite  direction. 

Time  passed,  and  seemed  to  bring  to 
the  young  pair  only  prosperity  and  satis- 
faction. George,  who  was  an  enthusiastic 
athlete,  was  supremely  happy  in  being  in 
a  place  where  polo,  golf,  rowing,  and  all 
such  sports  abounded,  and  also  within 
reach  of  good  hunting  and  fishing.  In 
these  pursuits  most  of  his  waking  hours 
were  passed.  Sybil,  who  would,  if  en- 
couraged, have  tried  to  identify  herself 
with  her  husband's  interests,  was  pre- 
vented by  his  avowal  that  he  did  not  like 
a  sporting  woman.  She  was  so  spared  an 
effort  that  would  have  irked  her,  but  the 
present  conditions  left  her  much  alone. 
32 


A  Realized  Ideal 

Under  these  circumstances  she  took  up 
her  violin  again,  and  practiced  with  such 
devotion  that  she  became  quite  famed  for 
it  in  her  somewhat  narrow  circle,  and  was 
frequently  urged  to  play  at  charity  con- 
certs or  musical  parties.  Her  husband, 
however,  said  that  he  had  never  liked  to  see 
women  make  themselves  conspicuous  by 
their  music,  and  so  she  declined  such  op- 
portunities and  played  only  at  home — 
where  she  was  rarely  listened  to! 

It  was  fortunate  that  she  cared  for  books, 
and  during  his  continual  absences  she  spent 
her  time  chiefly  in  reading  or  in  practising. 
They  were  looked  upon  as  a  happy  and 
fortunate  couple — a  thing  which  neither 
of  them  would  have  for  an  instant  denied. 

Within  a  year  a  baby  came,  and  on  this 
child  Sybil  fixed  her  ardent  heart.  Her 
husband's  unconcealed  disappointment 
that  the  child  was  a  girl  seemed  to  make 
the  mother's  love  the  tenderer.  To  feel 
this  little  being's  dependence  upon  her  was 
a  new  and  peculiar  joy. 
33 


A  Realized  Ideal 

The  thoughtful  look  on  Sybil's  face  in- 
tensified. She  read  books  which  strength- 
ened her  mind  and  broadened  her  nature, 
and  the  birth  of  her  child  seemed  to  open 
up  to  her  endless  vistas  of  deep,  fervid 
meditation.  In  the  sort  of  reading  to 
which  she  was  naturally  attracted  her  hus- 
band had  no  interest.  He  read  chiefly 
sporting  books  and  periodicals.  The 
newspapers  he  scanned  principally  for  tid- 
ings of  the  Drury  expedition.  Drury  was 
quite  a  hero  among  men  during  that  time, 
and  the  occasional  tidings  of  his  dangerous 
progress  toward  the  interior  were  a  fertile 
source  of  gossip  at  the  clubs. 

Occasionally  a  letter  would  come  from 
him,  such  letters  as  he  had  never  dreamed 
of  writing  to  a  friend  before.  These  Sybil 
read  with  avidity,  proud  that  her  husband 
should  be  the  chosen  friend  of  such  a  man. 
This  was  undoubtedly  her  first  interest  in 
the  letters,  but  she  would  not  have  been 
the  intelligent  creature  that  she  was  if  she 
had  not  felt,  in  those  messages,  so  graphic 
34 


A  Realized  Ideal 

with  both  the  external  and  internal  life  of 
the  writer,  an  interest  due  only  to  their 
intrinsic  significance. 

It  had  been  Churchill's  hope  that  he 
might  have  a  son,  to  be  called  Philip 
Drury.  He  wrote  this  to  his  friend 
when  he  announced  the  baby's  birth.  He 
failed,  however,  to  make  any  mention  of 
the  mother. 

The  answer  to  his  letter,  when  it  came 
at  last,  was  so  full  of  interest  and  feeling 
for  both  child  and  mother  that  Sybil  thought 
again  how  wonderful  her  husband  must  be 
to  be  so  loved  by  such  a  man. 

That  was  the  last  letter  from  Philip 
Drury  for  many  a  day  and  month.  Soon 
after  its  date  the  writer  passed  from  the 
world's  ken,  and  with  a  small,  well-disci- 
plined escort  disappeared  in  the  interior 
of  the  country,  where  it  might  be  that 
years  would  pass  before  he  should  be 
heard  from. 

In  reality  it  was  almost  two  years  be- 
fore tidings  from  the  Drury  expedition 
35 


A  Realized  Ideal 

came,  and  by  the  time  that  the  papers  an- 
nounced that  the  survivors,  after  desperate 
hardships  and  dangers,  were  on  their  way 
homeward,  Sybil  Churchill  had  entered 
into  her  second  year  of  widowhood.  Her 
husband  had  been  killed  by  an  accident, 
and  she  was  alone  in  the  world.  She  had 
no  near  relatives  of  her  own,  and  the 
Churchill  family,  with  whom  her  acquaint- 
ance was  slight,  was  living  abroad  and  did 
not  especially  interest  themselves  in  her. 

She  remained  where  her  husband  had 
left  her,  leading  a  most  secluded  life,  her 
child  almost  her  only  companion,  for  she 
was  not  a  woman  to  make  intimacies 
easily.  She  waited  anxiously  until  the 
being  should  return  to  whom  her  husband, 
in  his  brief  space  of  consciousness  be- 
tween injury  and  death,  had  committed 
her  and  his  child.  "  Philip  Drury  will 
help  you,"  he  had  said ;  "  tell  him  I  leave 
you  and  the  baby  to  his  care.  Take  his  ad- 
vice in  everything,  for  you  can  trust  no 
one  else  as  you  can  trust  him." 
36 


A  Realized  Ideal 

These  had  been  almost  his  last  con- 
scious words,  and  she  had  written  them  to 
Drury  as  soon  as  she  could  nerve  herself 
to  write  at  all.  For,  though  healthy, 
Sybil  was  constitutionally  frail,  and  this 
blow  had  almost  paralyzed  her  powers  for 
awhile.  It  was  the  child  who  had  proved 
at  last  a  summons  strong  enough  to  call 
her  back  to  life  and  its  demands  and  duties. 
When,  for  her  child's  sake,  she  undertook 
to  look  into  her  husband's  affairs,  a  con- 
dition was  revealed  before  which  she  felt 
herself  absolutely  helpless.  She  got  some 
assistance  from  a  lawyer,  but  she  put  off 
everything,  as  far  as  possible,  until  the 
person  should  come  to  whom  her  husband 
had  committed  her.  While  he  had  lived  his 
wish  had  been  her  religion,  and  it  was  so 
still. 

So  when  Philip  Drury  emerged  from 
his  long  banishment  and  had  put  into  his 
hands  his  immense  accumulation  of  mail 
matter,  and  was  making  some  effort  to 
classify  his  letters  according  to  date,  it  was 
37 


A  Realized  Ideal 

a  shock  that  vibrated  through  all  his  being 
when,  after  collecting  two  or  three  from 
Churchill,  dated  over  a  year  back,  he  held 
in  his  hands  one  from  Sybil,  in  an  envel- 
ope bordered  with  black. 

He  had  never  seen  her  handwriting  be- 
fore, but  he  knew  it  intuitively,  and  put- 
ting things  together  he  guessed  at  its  con- 
tents. Long  afterward  he  had  time  to 
think  how  strange  it  was  that  he  should 
have  recognized  a  hand  which  he  had 
never  seen,  but  at  the  time  he  had  abso- 
lutely no  room  in  heart  or  mind  for  any- 
thing but  overwhelming  pity  for  her.  He 
thought  of  poor  George  then,  and  how 
sad  and  untimely  this  end  of  his  bright  ex- 
istence was.  Only  long  afterward  did  he 
think  of  himself  and  of  any  possibility 
that  might  be  opened  to  him  by  this  event. 

Even  when  this  thought  did  come  to 
him,  it  was  too  tempered  by  uncertainty 
to  have  any  element  of  elation  in  it.  He 
knew  that  she  was  just  the  sort  of  woman 
to  consecrate  herself  to  an  ideal.  He  was 
38 


A  Realized  Ideal 

so  consecrated  himself,  and  he  knew  the 
thraldom  of  it.  Besides  all  this,  he  had 
been  so  long  exposed  to  peril,  his  old  life 
and  its  issues  seemed  to  cling  to  him  by 
so  slight  a  tenure  that  it  was  hard  for  him 
to  have  any  realizing  sense  of  himself  in 
this  new  position.  He  was  a  good  deal 
depleted  by  fever  and  hardship,  and  life 
from  that  point  of  view  seemed  very  un- 
real. 

When  he  had  read  Sybil's  letter, 
however,  a  note  of  distinctness  sounded 
in  his  consciousness.  She  delivered  her 
husband's  dying  message,  and  she  said 
that,  sooner  than  depend  on  other  help, 
she  would  wait  for  him  indefinitely.  She 
would  do  the  best  she  could  until  he  came, 
but  she  did  not  feel  that  in  all  the  world 
there  was  any  one  else  upon  whom  she 
could  and  would  depend. 

After  this  Drury's  progress  back  to  civ- 
ilization was  a  more  tedious  and  irksome 
delay  than  any  which  he  had  endured  in 
his  long  banishment.  The  thought  that 
39 


A  Realized  Ideal 

she  needed  him  and  waited  for  him  was  a 
spur  which  even  his  late  important  aims 
and  interests  had  not  furnished. 

He  was  returning  in  comparative  triumph 
and  success.  The  expected  ends  had  been 
approximately  accomplished  and  important 
services  had  been  rendered.  Ovations  of 
enthusiasm  awaited  him  in  Europe  and 
America,  and  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
escape  these  wholly.  Charing  under  the 
delays  which  kept  him  away  from  Sybil, 
he  was  obliged  to  be  present  at  banquets 
and  public  meetings,  accounts  of  all  of 
which  Sybil  read  in  the  daily  papers. 

She  had  not  formerly  cared  to  read 
newspapers,  but  now  that  they  were  ring- 
ing with  tribute  to  her  husband's  friend, 
they  had  a  new  interest  for  her.  How 
sad,  how  bitterly  hard  it  seemed  that 
George  could  not  see  the  triumph  of  this 
being,  who  of  all  men  he  had  most  ad- 
mired and  loved  ! 

She  would  often  take  her  little  girl  upon 
her  lap  and  tell  her  about  it,  representing 
4o 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"  Uncle  Philip "  as  a  mighty  hero,  and 
putting  his  dangers  in  the  form  of  great 
wild  beasts,  which,  of  course,  made  the 
strongest  possible  appeal  to  the  infant  im- 
agination. So  to  little  May,  also,  he  had 
become  a  hero. 

Sybil  was  grown  more  lovely  since  mar- 
riage and  motherhood  had  come  to  her. 
Her  husband  had  been  more  than  ever 
dear  and  sacred  to  her  as  the  father  of  her 
child,  and  even  the  pain  of  widowhood  had 
made  its  impress  of  beauty  upon  her  face. 
Her  life  with  George  Churchill  had  been 
far  more  apart  than  what  she  had  con- 
ceived of  it  before  marriage,  but  she  had 
conformed  her  conceptions  of  both  hus- 
band and  father  to  the  actuality  as  it  ex- 
isted before  her,  and  she  had  asked  no 
more. 


IV 

When,  escaped  at  last  from  a  host  of  de- 
mands and  even  engagements,  Drury  found 
himself  in  Sybil's  little  drawing-room,  wait- 
ing for  her  to  come  to  him,  it  seemed  to  be 
his  first  real  pause  since  he  had  left  Africa. 

He  stood  upright  in  the  center  of  the 
room.  He  felt  no  need  of  support.  All 
his  nerves  and  sinews  were  braced  to  en- 
durance as  they  had  not  been  in  any  of  his 
recent  dangers. 

But  when  at  last  she  softly  entered  the 
room,  his  head  seemed  to  grow  for  an  in- 
stant light  and  dizzy,  and  he  caught  at  the 
back  of  a  chair.  Recovering  himself 
quickly,  he  came  forward. 

She  was  in  dense  black,  a  fact  accentu- 
ated by  the  whiteness  of  the  dress   worn 
by  the  little  creature  carried  in  her  arms. 
42 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"  I  have  brought  your  god-child  to  see 
you,"  she  said.  The  tears  not  visible  in 
her  eyes  were  in  her  voice. 

As  she  sat  down  on  a  sofa,  still  holding 
the  child,  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  with 
it  a  full,  direct  gaze. 

No  words  were  needed.  It  was  a  look 
of  unreserved  self-revelation.  It  told  him 
that  the  worst  had  come  to  her  and  that 
she  sought  his  help  in  bearing  it. 

He  met,  comprehended,  and  answered 
that  look.  But  he  did  not  speak.  Bend- 
ing toward  the  child,  and  raising  its  face 
to  his,  with  a  hand  beneath  its  little  chin, 
he  looked  deep  into  its  innocent,  uncom- 
prehending eyes  with  a  gaze  of  promise 
which  he  would  not  have  dared  to  bestow 
upon  the  mother.  Then,  fervently,  he 
kissed  the  little  lips  twice. 

Sybil  saw  the  look  and  comprehended 
the  pledge  which  he  had  made  in  those 
two  kisses. 

"  Who  is  it,  darling  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Unker  Fip,"  said  the  child. 
43 


A  Realized  Ideal 

With  a  passionate  movement  Sybil 
drew  the  little  creature  against  her  heart 
and  bent  her  lips  upon  the  tiny  head. 
Then  she  looked  at  the  man  beside  her. 
It  was  an  eloquent  look:  "  She  is  all  I 
have,"  it  said. 

He  understood  indeed — too  well,  alas  ! 
He  had  seen  this  woman  but  once  before. 
Then  it  had  been  in  her  marriage  dress, 
and  now  she  wore  the  dark  insignia  of 
death.  Why  was  it,  he  wondered,  that 
she  should  seem  less  a  victim  now  than 
then  ?  He  could  not  bear  to  think  of  her 
being  led  to  the  altar  adorned  and  veiled. 
He  had  never  quite  liked  it  in  the  case  of 
any  woman.  It  seemed  to  make  too  fit- 
ting the  phrase  in  the  Russian  marriage 
ceremony,  "  Here,  wolf,  take  thy  lamb." 
She  seemed  to  him  somehow  to  have  been 
sacrificed. 

Yet  never  for  an  instant  had  he  doubted 

her  love  for  her  husband.     It  must  have 

been  that  George  Churchill,  even  with  the 

glamor  of  sudden  and  early  death  about 

44 


A  Realized  Ideal 

him,  seemed  unworthy  of  her!  But  so 
would  another  man  have  seemed  —  so  he 
seemed  to  himself  far  more  than  ever. 

If  Sybil  had  appeared  to  him  lovely  as  a 
bride,  as  a  widow  she  was  adorable.  He 
saw  her  now  more  nearly  and  intimately 
than  he  had  then,  and,  except  for  the  child, 
they  were  alone  together.  Perhaps  they 
both  felt  it  almost  too  acutely,  remember- 
ing the  one  who  was  absent. 

She  was  very  anxious  to  be  calm  and 
restrained  and  not  to  give  way  to  tears. 
She  feared  that  if  she  should  look  at  him 
the  mutual  consciousness  would  be  too 
much  for  her.  So  she  looked  only  at  the 
child  as  she  said  : 

"  Unker  Fip  is  very  good  to  us,  Baby 
May.  He  has  come  across  the  big  ocean 
just  to  help  us." 

"  Ah,  Baby  May,  he  would  die  to  do 
that  !  "  answered  Drury,  laying  his  great 
brown  hand  upon  the  tiny  pink  one,  and 
stroking  it  softly. 

"  He  is  our  best  friend  in  all  the  world, 
45 


A  Realized  Ideal 

Baby  —  don't  forget  that,  ever,"  said 
Sybil,  stroking  the  child's  soft  hair. 

"  He  wants  to  be,  dear  Baby,"  said  the 
big,  sunbrowned  man,  his  voice  and  touch 
inexpressibly  tender.  "  It  is  the  best 
good  the  world  holds  for  him  now  —  the 
greatest  thing  that  he  can  ever  hope  to  do." 

Up  to  this  time  the  child  had  been 
rather  overawed  by  her  introduction  to  this 
stranger,  of  whom  she  had  been  told  such 
wonderful  things,  but  gradually  she  had 
been  getting  familiarized  with  him,  and 
reminded  by  his  last  words  of  the  achieve- 
ments that  she  had  heard  attributed  to  him, 
she  looked  eagerly  up  into  his  face  and  said: 

"  Zoo  soot  taggers  ?  " 

The  mother  was  about  to  interpret,  but 
Drury  had  understood. 

"Yes,  Baby,"  he  said,  "I'll  shoot 
every  tiger  of  every  description  that  ven- 
tures to  threaten  your  little  life  with  dan- 
ger. That 's  the  kind  of  tigers  I  '11  kill 
for  the  future." 

"  Mamma,  too  ?  "  queried  the  child,  as 
46 


A  Realized  Ideal 

if  she  felt  unsatisfied  until  he  had  declared 
himself  mamma's  champion  and  defender 
as  well  as  hers. 

"  Yes,  mamma,  too,"  said  Drury;  "  but 
I  fancy  you  are  tiring  mamma.  Come  to 
lUnker  Fip'  and  let  him  hold  you." 

Almost  to  the  surprise  of  the  mother 
May  allowed  herself  to  be  lifted  into 
Drury's  lap. 

Standing  the  little  creature  on  his  knee, 
he  kept  his  arm  about  her,  while  she  un- 
hesitatingly clasped  his  neck  and  laid  the 
fairness  of  her  cheek  against  his  bronzed 
face. 

Sybil  thus  left  to  herself,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  sofa,  sat  with  her  small  hands 
folded  on  her  lap,  where  they  looked 
ethereally  white  and  fragile  against  the 
intense  black  of  her  gown.  She  was  thin- 
ner than  when  Drury  had  seen  her  last, 
and  her  smallness  and  frailness  made  a 
pathetic  appeal  to  the  powerful  man. 

"  I  generally  hit  it  off  with  children," 
he  said.  "  This  is  the  first  child  as  to 
47 


A  Realized  Ideal 

whom  I  have  ever  felt  conscious  of  real 
nervousness.  When  I  thought  of  the 
possibility  of  this  child's  not  liking  me,  I 
almost  trembled.  It  would  have  been  a 
greater  blow  to  me  than  you  can  well 
imagine." 

"  How  he  must  have  loved  his  friend  !  " 
thought  Sybil,  fervently;  and  Drury,  read- 
ing her  thought  in  her  glance,  felt  ashamed, 
for  it  was  only  because  this  was  the  child 
of  Sybil  that  he  had  had  that  dread. 

In  a  few  moments  the  nurse  arrived  to 
take  the  little  girl  away.  She  showed 
some  reluctance  at  leaving,  but  Drury  per- 
suaded her  to  go.  It  was  evident  that 
she  had  a  disposition  to  do  what  obliged 
him.  She  stipulated  that  he  was  to  carry 
her  to  the  door  on  his  shoulder,  and  hav- 
ing done  so  he  came  back  to  Sybil. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  little  dis- 
tressed glance  that  made  a  strong  appeal 
to  him.  He  saw  that  she  scarcely  dared 
trust  herself  to  speak. 

"  There  are  no  words  to  be  spoken 
48 


A  Realized  Ideal 

between  you  and  me,"  he  said,  as  he  took 
his  place  at  her  side  again.  "  We  under- 
stand each  other.  You  and  that  child  are 
henceforth  the  most  sacred  trust,  the  most 
important  business  of  my  life." 

The  eloquent  look  with  which  she 
thanked  him  smote  his  heart.  He  knew 
that  she  conceived  this  pledge  of  service 
to  be  his  tribute  to  his  friend,  while  he 
realized  that  if  this  divinely  precious 
woman  had  never  seen  or  been  seen  by 
George  Churchill  his  feeling  about  her 
would  have  been  the  same. 

"  How  good  you  are  !  "  she  said.  "  How 
perfectly  you  understand  !  I  cannot  talk 
about  it  yet.  It  is  still  too  new  and  too 
near.  That  is  why  I  shrink  from  people  — 
even  his  mother  and  sisters.  They  would 
want  to  talk  to  me  about  it,  and  that  I 
cannot  bear.  I  '11  get  better  after  awhile," 
she  added,  with  a  look  of  brave  purpose  in 
her  face.  "  I  have  his  child  to  live  for, 
and  I  will  do  my  best,  but  it  is  too  soon  to 
talk  about  it  now." 

49 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"  Why  need  you  talk  about  it  ever  ?  " 
he  said.  "  It  is  in  both  our  hearts.  We 
have  the  whole  deep  knowledge  there. 
Words  would  only  hurt  and  hinder." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you  !  "  she  said. 
"  You  are  the  only  one  who  really  under- 
stands." 

He  saw  that  the  tears  had  risen  to  her 
eyes,  and  that  her  voice  was  trembling  dan- 
gerously. He  could  not  bear  it.  He  got 
up  and  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  and  stood  for  some  moments  look- 
ing out  across  the  lawn.  Then  he  turned 
his  head,  and,  without  otherwise  moving 
or  speaking,  looked  at  Sybil. 

She  was  seated  where  he  had  left  her, 
but  she  had  turned  away  from  him,  and, 
with  her  head  bent  backward  on  the  sofa, 
she  sat  with  her  handkerchief  pressed 
against  her  eyes. 

He  longed  inexpressibly  to  go  to  her  and 
comfort  her.     He  could  not  do  the  former, 
but  a  way  now  occurred  to  him  by  which 
he  might  possibly  do  the  latter. 
50 


A  Realized  Ideal 

There  was  a  piano  just  beside  him,  and 
he  moved  softly  to  the  stool  and  opened  it. 
With  firm,  sure  touch  he  struck  a  deep 
chord.  He  felt  the  strength  and  aspiration 
of  his  soul  go  into  that  sound,  and  he  felt 
that  it  passed  therefrom  into  the  spirit  of 
the  woman  yonder. 

He  could  not  see  her  face,  he  could  only 
dimly  see  the  outline  of  her  black-clad  fig- 
ure, but  he  played  on,  the  strong,  sonorous 
chords  hushed  into  gentleness  by  the  pity 
of  his  heart. 

He  felt  himself  talking  to  Sybil  as  he 
could  not  dream  of  doing  in  words.  He 
had  never  had  such  utterance  to  give  forth 
oefore,  and  surely,  though  he  was  a  good 
musician,  he  had  never  played  as  he  was 
playing  now  ! 

What  it  was  that  he  played  he  did  not 
pause  to  think.  It  came  to  him  —  that 
mingling  and  paraphrasing  of  various  dear 
melodies  by  which  his  spirit  reached  to- 
wards hers. 

It  was  a  long  time  that  he  sat  there,  ten- 
s' 


A  Realized  Ideal 

derly  touching  forth  those  sweet,  low  notes 
that  carried  a  strong  message  of  endurance 
to  her  heart.  He  felt  that  he  was  telling 
her  that  life  was  not  all,  even  death  was 
not  all  —  that  something  sweet  and  pre- 
cious must  exist  beyond,  which  would  be 
eternal. 

And  the  comfort  which  he  offered  her 
he  felt  himself.  "  Anything  that  could 
end  was  too  short! "  One  feeling  of  his 
heart,  at  least,  he  knew  to  be  eternal. 
There  had  never  been  a  time  when  there 
had  not  existed  for  him  the  lady  most  per- 
fect. Such  a  time  could  never  be.  He 
might  not  be  able,  in  all  his  human  life,  to 
tell  her  this  in  articulate  words,  but  he 
thanked  the  good  God  for  making  music, 
and  he  felt  that  there  would  always  be  that 
communication  between  his  soul  and  hers. 

So  he  sat  there,  as  the  twilight  gathered, 
and  played  his  heart  out  to  her,  and  whether 
she  understood  one  tithe  of  it  or  not,  he  felt 
that  she  was  comforted. 


There  was  a  great  deal  of  business  to  be 
transacted  in  connection  with  George 
Churchill's  estate.  It  was  not  a  large  one, 
and  Sybil  had  no  property  of  her  own,  so 
it  was  the  more  necessary  that  what  was 
left  to  her  should  be  managed  with  care- 
fulness and  judgment. 

These  two  qualities  had  been  conspicu- 
ously lacking  up  to  the  present  time. 
Drury  was  shocked  to  see  how  heedless 
and  neglectful  Churchill's  management 
had  been,  and  he  set  to  work  to  square 
things  up  as  far  as  possible. 

In  the  letter  which  George  had  written 
him  at  the  time  of  the  baby's  birth  he  had 
especially  committed  the  child  to  him,  say- 
ing, in  the  tentative  and  confident  way  in 
which  men  do  say  such  things,  that  in  case 
53 


A  Realized  Ideal 

anything  unforeseen  should  come  to  him, 
he  relied  on  Drury  to  act  for  him  as  his 
most  trusted  friend.  He  had  said  the  same 
as  to  Drury  to  his  relatives,  and  they  were 
more  than  willing  to  consent  to  such  an 
arrangement. 

It  was  therefore  entirely  natural  that 
Drury  should  be  a  great  deal  with  Mrs. 
Churchill,  and  the  retirement  of  her  place, 
which  was  in  the  country,  prevented  any 
detailed  knowledge  of  what  went  on  there. 

It  was  summer-time,  and  Drury  went 
out  from  the  city  almost  daily,  and  spent 
hours,  either  in  Churchill's  library,  going 
through  his  papers,  or  else  with  Sybil,  try- 
ing to  solve  and  straighten  out  difficulties. 
The  fact  that  he  was  a  lawyer  by  educa- 
tion stood  him  in  good  stead  now. 

Every  day,  almost  every  hour,  he  was 
confronted  with  the  self-indulgent  care- 
lessness or  ineffectualness  of  the  man 
whose  papers  were  now  passing  through 
his  hands.  There  were,  moreover,  such 
endless  communications  concerning  dogs, 
54 


A  Realized  Ideal 

horses,  guns,  fishing-tackle,  and  sporting 
matters,  and  to  these  such  undue  impor- 
tance and  prominence  seemed  to  be  given 
that  Drury  often  shrank  from  having  the 
tenderly  loving  and  grieving  widow  to  draw 
some  of  the  inferences  which  he  drew. 

A  question  which  he  had  sometimes 
asked  himself  before  came  home  to  him 
now  with  insistency.  It  was  this:  Take 
away  from  George  Churchill  the  charm 
which  came  from  his  good  looks,  good 
humor,  and  youthfulness,  what  would 
remain  ? 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  had  been  subject- 
ing his  young  friend  to  a  very  critical 
analysis,  from  the  time  of  his  marriage,  and 
he  had  failed  to  see  much  beyond  these 
qualities  in  him.  These  existed,  it  is  true, 
in  an  eminent  degree,  and  he  could  scarce- 
ly wonder  that  they  had  been  enough  to 
win  an  exquisite  woman's  love.  But  to 
keep  it  ?  Ah,  it  might  be  well  for  George 
Churchill,  well  for  Sybil,  perhaps,  that  he 
had  died  early! 

55 


A  Realized  Ideal 

He  found  from  her  slight  and  superficial 
knowledge  of  her  husband's  doings  how 
much  their  lives  had  been  apart.  It  also 
leaked  out  in  his  talk  with  Sybil  that  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  practice  several 
hours  daily  on  her  violin,  up  to  the  time  of 
her  husband's  death.  "  Only  when  I  was 
alone,"  she  had  added,  quickly,  as  if  anx- 
ious to  free  herself  from  the  imputation 
of  having  possibly  been  annoying  to  her 
husband.  Drury  said  nothing,  but  he  drew 
his  inferences. 

All  the  time  that  they  were  sorting  pa- 
pers together,  or  talking  about  investments 
and  securities,  his  heart  was  absorbingly 
preoccupied  with  the  thought  of  her;  but 
of  this  she  was  as  unconscious  as  a  child. 
She  had  asked  him  to  call  her  Sybil  in 
that  meeting  long  ago,  but  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  do  it  without  difficulty.  It 
was  a  privilege  so  dear  that  he  almost 
shrank  from  taking  it.  But  the  alternative 
of  saying  "  Mrs.  Churchill "  was  more 
difficult  still.  While  her  husband  was  liv- 
56 


A  Realized  Ideal 

ing  he  had  compelled  himself  to  think  of 
her  by  that  name,  but  now  why  should  he  ? 
This  question  led  the  way  to  other  and 
deeper  ones.  Why  was  it  that,  in  the  cases 
of  other  widows  he  had  known,  he  had 
compelled  himself  to  think  of  them  as  the 
wives  of  their  dead  husbands,  and  would 
have  been  keenly  shocked  to  think  of  them 
otherwise?  Was  it  simply  because  this 
woman  was  his  ideal  lady  ?  He  was  res- 
olutely honest,  and  he  knew  that  it  was  not 
that. 

By  deep  and  searching  thinking  he  made 
out  a  theory  about  it.  In  cases  where  per- 
fect union  had  existed  in  marriage,  death 
did  not  dissolve  it;  but  any  marriage  where 
there  had  not  been  such  a  union,  death 
ended  and  obliterated.  In  this  case  it 
was  impossible  that  such  a  union  could 
have  existed;  the  materials  were  too 
diverse  for  fusion.  He  was  sure  that 
Sybil  had  never  been  George  Churchill's 
wife  in  the  subtle  sense  of  psychical  union. 
That  was  supreme,  and  so  death  had  set 
57 


A  Realized  Ideal 

her  free  of  Churchill  and  of  every  obliga- 
tion to  him. 

But  how  if  she  did  not  see  it  so  and 
would  not  so  acknowledge  it?  He  knew 
that  her  belief  in  her  love  for  her  husband 
was  perfect.  If  their  marriage  had  been  to 
some  extent  a  disappointment  (and  no  power 
could  convince  him  but  that  it  had !)  she 
no  doubt  ascribed  it  to  the  faultiness  of 
human  conditions,  and  probably  believed 
it  to  be  as  perfect  a  union  as  was  compati- 
ble with  the  existing  order  of  things. 

Ah,  if  it  might  be  given  him  to  show 
her  otherwise !  Her  husband  had  loved 
her,  of  course,  but  what  was  mere  love  ? 
What  a  slight,  cheap,  common  thing  it 
was,  which  the  boor  and  the  savage,  the 
boy  and  the  girl,  the  ignorant  and  trivial, 
experienced  also !  How  inferior,  how 
worthless  was  mere  love,  compared  to  the 
love  with  which  there  went  congeniality 
of  thought,  aspirations,  and  ideals — the 
mysterious  psychical  mingling  of  the  man 
and  woman  spirits  born  to  be  mates ! 
58 


A  Realized  Ideal 

He  would  be  called  sentimental,  no 
doubt,  if  he  were  known  to  hold  such  ideas 
as  these ;  but  they  were  his  dearest  posses- 
sion, and  he  knew  that  he  would  rather 
lose  his  hold  on  life  itself  than  on  them. 

And  as  surely  as  he  had  always  believed 
that  this  was  the  woman  created  in  bodily 
form  to  realize  his  dream  of  perfect  wo- 
manhood, just  so  surely  did  he  now  be- 
lieve that  he  was  made  for  her.  Already, 
even  through  such  restricted  intercourse, 
protected  as  they  both  were  by  their  con- 
sciousness of  the  past,  there  had  come  to 
him  such  revelations  of  the  peculiar  con- 
geniality between  them  as  to  startle  him. 
He  could  see  also  that,  whether  she  wished 
to  give  evidence  of  it  or  not,  her  settled 
sadness  was  often  penetrated  by  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  same  fact.  They  found 
frequently  that  they  loved  the  same  books, 
and  had  memorized  the  same  passages  in 
them,  and  at  the  times  of  such  discoveries 
they  could  not  help  looking  at  each  other 
with  delight. 

59 


A  Realized  Ideal 

After  such  an  experience,  however,  Sybil 
would  invariably  retire  into  herself  more 
closely,  as  if  she  reproached  herself  that 
she  could  have  felt  that  spontaneous  pleas- 
ure. At  this  the  very  depths  of  Drury's 
soul  protested.  How  false  one  might  be 
in  adhering  to  what  appeared  a  true  ideal ! 
What  radical,  uncompromising  heart- 
searching  was  necessary  to  be  true  to  truth  ! 
He  knew  that  truth  to  truth  involved, 
in  many  a  heart,  falseness  to  what  was 
dearer  than  truth.  He  had  a  distinct  con- 
ception of  that  type  of  woman.  He  knew 
that,  with  her,  what  her  soul  had,  in  its 
fresh  young  fervor,  accepted  as  truth  was 
liable  to  exercise  a  stronger  sway  than  any 
pure  abstraction  of  truth  which  wider 
knowledge  and  deeper  experience  might  re- 
veal. Conventions,  traditions,  accepted 
opinions,  had,  as  he  knew,  great  weight 
with  all  humanity — with  women  more  than 
with  men — and  with  this  one  woman,  be- 
cause of  her  very  womanliness,  he  con- 


60 


A  Realized  Ideal 

ceived  that  these  would  be  powerful,  per- 
haps supreme. 

As  he  sat  alone  with  Sybil  and  played  to 
her  during  long  and  wordless  hours,  the 
thought  that  dominated  him  and  was  his 
strongest  and  highest  appeal  to  her  was 
this  idea  of  truth  to  truth.  He  could  not 
tell  her  so  in  words,  but  he  strove  by  the 
help  of  music  to  lift  her  to  that  high  plane. 
Music  as  a  vehicle  for  sentiment  and  emo- 
tion he  believed  in  absolutely,  but  here 
was  something  which  had  to  do  with  rea- 
son and  conscience  and  duty.  That  was 
the  appeal  which  he  longed  to  make  to  her. 
But  the  difficulties  in  his  way  were  great. 


61 


VI 

One  evening  Drury  had  been  playing  a 
long  time,  while  Sybil  sat  some  distance 
off,  listening,  as  her  manner  was,  with  her 
face  averted.  Often  at  such  times  he  had 
been  conscious  that  she  was  crying  gently, 
but  he  had  never  made  any  effort  to  check 
these  tears.  He  felt  that  they  were  Na- 
ture's unction  for  her  wounded  heart,  and 
that  their  effect  at  last  would  be  to  heal. 
They  were  tranquil,  unembittered  tears, 
and  he  trusted  that  by  encouraging  her  to 
be  wholly  natural  with  him  he  might  ap- 
proach her  the  more  intimately  and  simply. 

This  evening  he  had  been  playing  with 
a  feeling  she  had  not  known  in  him  be- 
fore. He  was  conscious  of  it,  and  of  its 
source.  It  was  not  the  passion  of  his 
heart  for  her,  as  man  loves  woman.  That 
62 


A  Realized  Ideal 

was  in  abeyance  now.  What  he  felt  was 
a  fervid  necessity  that  she  should  realize 
the  divine  duty  of  keeping  faith  with  truth. 

Leaving  the  piano  abruptly,  he  came  to 
a  seat  facing  her,  and  found  her  in  tears. 

He  said  nothing  until  she  had  stanched 
the  flow  of  these  and  recovered  herself 
sufficiently  to  sit  upright  and  look  at  him, 
with  a  brave  effort  at  a  smile. 

He  did  not,  however,  return  the  smile. 

"Sybil,"  he  said,  gravely,  using  a  tone 
that  she  did  not  know  in  him,  "why  do 
you  try  to  smile,  when  your  heart  is  so 
heavy  ?  " 

The  question  took  her  by  surprise.  She 
looked  at  him  with  wondering  silence. 

"Try  to  answer  me,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
very  hard — one  of  the  hardest  things  in 
the  world,  perhaps  —  for  people  to  be  per- 
fectly honest  with  themselves  and  with 
each  other.  To  many,  I  believe,  such 
truth  is  impossible,  but  I  believe  that  it 
might  not  be  with  you  and  me.  You  have 
heard  of  the  Palace  of  Truth.  I  should 
63 


A  Realized  Ideal 

like  to  erect  such  a  structure  about  you 
and  me,  that  we  might  live  in  it  always. 
But  in  that  dwelling-place,  Sybil,  there 
could  be  no  such  thing  as  a  surface  smile, 
no  matter  how  sweet  and  unselfish  the 
feeling  which  might  prompt  it.  Would 
you  be  willing  to  go  into  residence  there 
with  me  ? " 

He  smiled  himself  as  he  said  it,  a  smile 
which  rose  directly  from  a  heart  that  glad- 
dened at  the  thought. 

"You  do  not  answer,"  he  went  on. 
"Then  let  me  try  to  answer  for  you.  It 
was  because  you  wished  me  to  believe  you 
more  hopeful  than  you  felt  that  you  smiled 
above  your  tears  just  then.  I  wish  you 
would  never  do  that.  I  wish  you  could 
feel  it  in  your  heart  to  offer  me  the  tribute 
of  perfect  truthfulness.  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  of  your  pretending  to  me  to  be  one 
whit  less  unhappy  than  you  really  are. 
Weep  if  your  heart  is  sore;  when  the 
wound  has  bled  enough  it  will  stop  of 
itself." 

64 


A  Realized  Ideal 

He  paused  suddenly.  A  look  in  her 
eyes,  brief  but  keen,  had  checked  him  — 
a  look  of  dread,  so  he  interpreted  it  in  his 
heart,  as  he  said : 

"Since  I  also  am  in  the  Palace  of  Truth, 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  understand  your 
feeling  to  be  now.  The  thought  that  your 
wound  might  cease  to  bleed  alarmed  you. 
Is  it  not  so?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes!"  she  said,  lacing 
her  fingers  together  and  pressing  them  in 
hard  constraint  against  her  knee.  "  I 
could  not  bear  that  thought.  I  do  not 
want  the  wound  to  cease  bleeding.  I 
should  feel  myself  a  faithless  woman  if  it 
ever  did." 

"  Faithless  to  what  ?  You  must  keep 
faith  with  truth  before  every  other  alle- 
giance. If  you  listen  to  any  other  voice 
than  that  which  speaks  from  above  to  your 
soul,  the  revelation  of  the  highest  cannot 
come  to  you.  I  tell  you  this,  my  friend, 
because  I  see  that  you  are  in  danger — a 
danger  which  continually  besets  good 
65 


A  Realized  Ideal 

women  in  your  case,  and  the  sweeter, 
the  more  loving  they  are,  the  more  lia- 
ble to  this  danger  are  they.  It  consists  in 
a  mistaking  of  artificial  feelings  for  true 
ones — or  rather,  I  believe  I  should  not  err 
if  I  said  a  preference  for  artificial  feelings 
over  true  ones,  if  the  former  better  coin- 
cide with  the  ideal  of  conduct  which  a 
widow  is  apt  to  lay  down  for  herself." 

It  gave  him  a  little  pang  to  apply  this 
name  to  her,  and  he  was  afraid  that  he 
had  wounded  her  by  it,  but  a  certain 
amount  of  ruthlessness  was  essential  for 
the  carrying  out  of  his  purpose,  and  he 
must  not  shrink  from  it. 

"  You  are  a  most  sensitive  being,"  he 
went  on,  "  and  you  have  had  a  crushing 
blow  from  which  your  whole  nature  tot- 
ters yet.  You  have  had  the  prop  against 
which  you  rested  wrenched  away,  and  it 
will  take  all  the  stamina  that  is  in  you  to 
stand  upright,  as  you  must  do  for  the  sake 
of  your  child.  Your  only  helps  in  this 
are  God  and  Nature.  When  God's  voice 
66 


A  Realized  Ideal 

speaks  to  you,  Sybil,  stop  and  listen  to  it, 
and  dare  to  hear  the  truth.  When  Nature 
would  assuage  and  soothe,  give  place  to 
her.  What  I  dread  for  you  is  the  demon 
of  morbidness  which  so  possesses  women. 
I  cannot  think  that  it  could  get  much  foot- 
hold in  a  spirit  as  simple  and  sincere  as 
yours,  but  I  would  have  you  guard  against 
it.  I  beseech  you,  for  the  sake  of  those 
most  dear  to  you,  the  living  and  the  dead, 
to  open  your  heart  instead  of  closing  it, 
and  to  keep  your  mind  ever  open  also  to 
the  voice  of  truth.  I  tell  you  all  this,  my 
beloved  friend,  because  I  am  going  away, 
and  I  wish  to  leave  you  free,  for  God  and 
Nature  to  do  their  work  in  you." 

He  heard  himself  utter  the  words,  and 
he  knew  that  they  committed  him.  Now 
that  he  had  said  that  he  was  going,  he  must 
go.  He  had  not  meant  to  go  quite  yet. 
There  were  reasons  still  which  would 
serve  for  excuses  to  detain  him  longer,  but 
to-night,  as  he  had  made  bold  to  approach 
her  more  directly  and  personally  than  ever 
67 


A  Realized  Ideal 

before,    he    felt  a   sense    of  danger  that 
alarmed  him. 

She  looked  so  frail,  so  young,  so  beauti- 
ful to-night.  The  agitated  and  half-dis- 
tressed seeking  of  her  eyes  for  his,  in 
order  that  she  might  better  comprehend 
his  meaning,  made  the  self-restraint  ex- 
tremely difficult,  and  he  was  afraid  to 
trust  himself  to  stay.  It  was  not  that 
he  was  afraid  of  any  utterance  or  avowal 
of  his  feelings  —  that,  of  course,  he 
could  provide  against — but  afraid  that 
some  involuntary  look  or  word  might 
give  rise  to  a  suspicion  in  her  heart,  and 
he  felt  that  the  merest  glimmer  of  such 
a  thing  would  antagonize  her  to  him  for- 
ever. It  was  a  sufficient  danger-signal,  to 
see  that  she  looked  grieved  and  disappointed 
when  he  spoke  of  going,  and  that  her  dear 
voice  trembled  as  she  said  : 

"  Must  you  go  already  ?  You  have  been 
very,  very  good  to  stay  so  long." 

"  Yes,  I  must  go,"  he  said,  "  to-mor- 
row.    I  am  pressingly  called." 
68 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"  You  will  come  back  ?  " 

She  said  the  words  as  if  in  hesitation  be- 
tween doubt  and  fear. 

"  Yes,  I  will  come  back,"  he  said.  "  If 
you  need  me  really  at  any  time,  you  are  to 
send  for  me,  for  you  and  the  child  are  my 
chief  care  in  life  now.  If  all  goes  well 
with  you,  however,  if  you  can  get  on  with- 
out me,  I  may  not  come  for  some  time.  I 
have  made  engagements  in  Europe  which 
may  detain  me.  Meanwhile,  Sybil,  make 
me  the  promise  that  I  ask.  Try  to  com- 
pel yourself  to  be  true  to  the  highest  truth. 
Life  is  hard  enough  at  best,  God  knows, 
but  you  sweet  women  often  make  it  harder 
than  it  need  be." 

"  I  will  try,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  do 
not  want  relief  and  happiness  except  just 
so  much  as  is  needed  to  keep  me  brave  for 
my  work  in  the  world,  which  is  my  child 
—  my  child  and  his  !  " 

He  could  not  answer.  Her  trust  in  him 
and  in  his  comprehension  of  her  was  too 
dangerous  to  him.  He  did  comprehend 
69 


A  Realized  Ideal 

her.  He  felt  that  he  knew  her  very  soul, 
but  if  she  believed  that  the  husband  she  had 
lost  had  called  forth  her  best  love  —  had 
realized  her  own  conception  of  love  — 
then  in  his  heart  he  felt  that  she  did  not 
know  herself. 

Drury's  resolution  to  go  immediately 
had  been  suddenly  taken.  The  intensity 
with  which  he  longed  to  stay  another 
week  had  compelled  him  to  decide  on  tak- 
ing to-morrow's  steamer.  A  more  direct 
personal  consciousness  had  been  created 
between  them  by  this  recent  talk,  and  he 
was  afraid  to  linger  near  her  —  not  so 
much  afraid  of  spoiling  his  chances  with 
her  (for  on  that  point  he  was  too  much  in 
doubt  to  presume  at  all)  as  of  alienating 
her  from  him  to  such  an  extent  as  would 
stand  in  the  way  of  his  service  to  her  and 
the  child. 

That  little  creature    had   become  de- 
votedly attached  to  him,  while  he   in  his 
turn  had  a  strange  and  powerful  feeling  for 
her.    It  was  an  exquisite  delight  to  him  to 
70 


A  Realized  Ideal 

carry  her  about  in  his  arms  and  to  feel  her 
little  hands  clasping  his  neck.  He  had 
loved  many  children  and  been  loved  by 
them,  but  this  was  Sybil's  child,  and  there 
was  a  quality  in  this  intercourse  which 
was  divinely  precious  to  him. 

Sometimes,  when  they  were  quite  alone, 
out  under  the  dense  shade  of  the  shrub- 
bery, he  would  do  strange  things.  He 
would  look  long  into  her  innocent,  un- 
comprehending eyes  with  a  consciousness 
that  his  love  for  Sybil  shone  so  patently  in 
his  own  that  any  one  but  a  baby  would  be 
able  to  see  it  there.  He  even  talked  to 
the  child  about  it,  making  his  confession  in 
such  ambiguous  language  as  she  could  not 
understand  —  sometimes  uttering  it  pas- 
sionately in  French  or  German.  It  served 
his  purpose  and  gave  him  a  pleasant  con- 
sciousness that  May  was  in  his  secret,  and 
what  lover  does  not  want  a  confidant, 
provided  that  that  rarely  endowed  being  is 
to  be  had  ? 

It  was  just  as  he  was  bracing  himself 
71 


A  Realized  Ideal 

to  say  good-by  to  Sybil  that  May  came  in, 
escaping  from  her  nurse.  She  was  at 
the  age  when  children  run  more  naturally 
than  they  walk,  the  increased  momentum 
making  it  less  difficult  to  keep  steady  on 
inexperienced  feet. 

As  she  trotted  swiftly  over  the  floor 
now,  veering  with  a  pretty  awkwardness 
around  one  or  two  obstructing  pieces  of 
furniture,  both  Drury  and  Sybil,  who  had 
caught  sight  of  her  at  the  same  moment, 
held  out  their  arms  simultaneously.  They 
were  a  little  apart,  and  the  child,  starting 
toward  her  mother,  and  then  seeing 
Drury's  look  of  affectionate  invitation, 
changed  her  course,  and  with  a  lurch  of 
her  little  body,  not  yet  quite  active  enough 
in  obeying  the  brain's  dictates,  fell  to  the 
floor  between  them  and  began  to  cry. 

Simultaneously  they  sprang  forward  to 
lift  and  comfort  her.  In  doing  so  their 
hands  met,  and  each,  after  his  or  her  con- 
sciousness, realized  that  touch.  Sybil,  full 
of  regret  at  the  approach  of  the  parting 
72 


A  Realized  Ideal 

moment,  felt  comfort  in  that  contact  with 
the  strong  supporting  hand,  which,  be- 
neath hers,  was  helping  her  to  raise  the 
child.  What  Drury  felt  was  a  thing  so 
much  more  poignantly  sweet  than  this 
that  he  pulled  his  hand  away,  even  while 
her  own  grasp  lingered.  Then,  having 
placed  the  child  upon  her  mother's  lap, 
he  stood  up  to  say  good-by. 

May,  who  had  been  only  scared,  not 
hurt,  was  smiling  now,  and  as  if  realizing 
that  her  mother  was  having  more  than  a 
half  share  of  her  precious  self,  she 
reached  out  and  caught  Drury' s  hand, 
trying  to  pull  him  nearer.  He  held  him- 
self erect,  however,  and  did  not  yield  to 
her  weak  little  effort,  as  he  said : 

"  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise 
before  I  go,  Sybil." 

"  What  is  it?"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of 
ready  acquiescence,  and  with  a  motion  of 
affectionate  confidence  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  him. 

Surely  he  saw  it !  Surely  it  was  not 
73 


A  Realized  Ideal 

possible  that  such  a  motion  made  directly 
under  his  eyes  could  have  escaped  him  ! 
And  yet,  after  wavering  a  second,  her 
hand  fell  to  her  side  without  his  having 
made  the  least  motion  to  clasp  it. 

A  slight  flush  rose  to  her  face,  and  she 
looked  down  at  the  child.  When  she 
again  glanced  up  at  Drury,  she  saw  a 
deepening  of  color  in  his  face  also.  This 
brought  a  consciousness  that  made  her 
face  burn  scarlet.  Drury  saw  it,  and  she 
saw  that  he  saw  it.  Hastily  taking  the 
child  from  her  arms,  he  strained  the  little 
creature  to  him,  kissing  it  fervently. 

"  God  bless  you  both  !  "  he  said,  and 
then,  clasping  her  hand,  for  a  second  only, 
he  put  May  back  into  her  arms,  and  was 
gone. 

He  had  not  even  told  her  what  the 
promise  that  he  wanted  was.  Why  not  ? 
What  consciousness  was  it  that  had  come 
between  them. 

Frightened,  agitated,  bewildered,  Sybil 
carried  May  to  the  nurse,  and  then,  lock- 
74 


A  Realized  Ideal 

ing  herself  in  her  own  room,  fell  on  the 
bed,  convulsed  with  sobs. 

In  the  midst  of  the  paroxysm  she 
checked  herself,  and  suddenly  rose  to  her 
feet.  What  was  she  crying  about  ?  At 
the  very  mental  hint  of  its  being  because 
of  Drury's  going  the  sounds  in  her  throat 
were  stilled  and  the  flow  of  tears  subsided. 
The  past  was  stronger  than  the  present 
yet !  It  was  not  for  that  that  she  had 
cried.  She  thought  of  Drury's  appeal  to 
her  to  be  true,  to  search  her  own  heart, 
and  listen  to  the  voice  that  spoke  in  it. 

As  she  did  so  she  became  definitely 
aware  of  what  the  source  of  her  tears 
had  been.  In  that  parting  scene  she  had 
been  compelled  to  face  the  consciousness 
that  this  man  might  occupy  a  more  per- 
sonal relationship  toward  her  than  that  of 
her  husband's  friend — and  not  this  man 
only,  but  other  men !  That  was  the 
thought  that  wounded  her,  and  the  very 
root  of  the  bitterness  lay  in  another  fact, 
which  made  her  shrink  and  tremble,  while 
75 


A  Realized  Ideal 

her  cheeks  grew  hot.  This  was  that  it 
might  become  possible  for  her  to  occupy  a 
more  personal  relationship  toward  this 
man  —  this  man,  Philip  Drury,  though  no 
other  ! 

Prompted  by  that  honest  heart-search- 
ing, to  which  she  had  pledged  herself,  in 
her  recent  talk  with  Drury,  she  saw  star- 
ing her  in  the  face  a  possibility  which 
caused  her  to  hate  herself.  She  sat  down 
on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and  covered  her 
eyes  with  her  hands.  She  was  trying  to 
conjure  up  the  image  of  her  husband,  that 
she  might  pledge  herself  to  him  anew  in 
a  passionate  and  eternal  dedication.  But 
as  she  did  this  Philip  Drury's  face  and 
form  rose  up  instead,  adjuring  her  to  be 
true  to  truth,  even  while  she  was  strug- 
gling to  be  true  to  what  her  womanhood, 
her  wifehood,  her  ideal  of  herself,  insisted 
upon  placing  above  truth.  If  she  were 
not  eternally  faithful  to  her  husband's 
memory,  she  argued,  she  ought  to  be ;  and 
then  that  image  of  Philip  Drury  seemed 
76 


A  Realized  Ideal 

to  look  into  her  eyes,  as  if  he  held  the 
mirror  of  truth  before  them,  and  to  say, 
"Why?" 

She  could  not  at  once  find  an  answer 
to  this  question,  and  the  sense  of  her 
impotence  oppressed  her.  She  tried  to 
think  of  George.  How  handsome  he 
had  been !  But  a  nobler  image  arose 
and  crowded  out  the  other.  She  tried  to 
get  back  a  sense  of  companionship  with 
him,  but  the  deep  consciousness  of  a 
better,  richer,  more  satisfactory  compan- 
ionship possessed  her  memory  and  would 
not  be  subordinated  to  the  other.  There 
were  certain  phrases  in  which  she  had 
always  been  able  to  recall  her  husband's 
voice,  but  as  she  now  reiterated  the 
words  in  her  mind,  the  insistent  sound 
of  that  last  fervid  "  God  bless  you 
both  !"  made  a  barrier  which  they  could 
not  penetrate. 

At  last  this  astounding  truth  rushed 
over  her  —  that  the  image  of  her  husband 
was  in  danger  of  suffering  eclipse  if  this 
77 


A  Realized  Ideal 

image  of  his  friend  were  not  put  from  her 
before  it  had  come  farther  between  George 
Churchill  (her  husband  dead  as  well  as 
living!)  and  herself.  If  she  could  forget 
him,  and  come  to  think  of  his  friend  as — 
but  from  the  very  thought  of  that  her 
spirit  turned  and  fled.  She  realized  that 
it  was  fleeing  from  the  Palace  of  Truth, 
because  it  lacked  courage  to  remain  there. 
This  consciousness  she  could  not  escape. 
Philip  Drury  had  declared  that  no  fealty 
was  so  high  as  allegiance  to  truth,  but  she 
could  not  help  it.  That  she  —  so  re- 
cently become  a  widow  —  could  entertain 
a  thought  of  another  man  was,  in  this 
moment,  far  more  intolerable  to  her  than 
the  thought  of  being  false  to  abstract 
truth.  If  she  did  not  love  her  husband, 
respect  his  memory,  and  own  his  rights 
over  her,  as  she  would  have  herself  do, 
then  she  must  act  as  if  she  did,  and  per- 
haps the  comfort  now  foregone  might 
come  to  her  again  —  the  thought  that  she 
was  a  true  and  faithful  wife ! 
78 


A  Realized  Ideal 

Urged  by  this  feeling,  she  went  to  her 
desk  and  wrote  Drury  a  note.  There  was 
time  for  it  to  reach  him  on  the  steamer, 
and  she  felt  that  she  must  make  her  posi- 
tion more  definite  to  him  before  he  left 
America,  where  was  his  friend's  body,  and 
where  was  also  the  poor  weak  wife  who 
seemed  now  too  faithless  ever  to  have 
been  worthy  of  him  ! 

In  this  mood  she  wrote  him  a  rather 
chill  note  of  thanks  for  all  the  trouble  he 
had  taken  for  the  wife  and  child  of  his 
friend,  and  added  that  she  knew  that  it 
had  all  been  done  for  that  friend's  sake, 
and  that  she  thanked  him  in  his  name. 

As  Sybil  put  her  signature  to  this  letter 
she  knew  that  she  had  passed  across  the 
threshold  of  the  Palace  of  Truth  and  that 
its  door  had  closed  behind  her. 

She  rang,  and  ordered  the  letter  to  be 
posted,  and  then,  in  spite  of  herself,  gave 
way  to  sobs. 


79 


VII 

Few  of  us  in  this  world  are  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  preserve  the  true  course  unfal- 
teringly. The  best  we  can  do  is  to  keep 
to  it  in  the  main,  so  that  if  we  have 
headed  our  little  life-bark  due  north  we 
get  to  the  pole  at  last,  though  not  without 
many  veerings  to  east  and  west. 

So,  with  Philip  Drury  it  happened  that 
as  he  drove  through  the  streets  of  New 
York  to  take  the  steamer,  instead  of  con- 
gratulating himself  that  he  had  done  well 
he  was  half  resentful  over  his  lost  oppor- 
tunities. He  could  not  even  guess 
whether  or  not  Sybil  would  ever  be  won 
to  look  upon  him  in  the  light  of  a  hus- 
band, but  at  least  she  was  now  free  and 
the  way  of  approach  to  her  was  open. 
He  was  going  to  bring  the  greatest  effort 
80 


A  Realized  Ideal 

of  his  life  to  this  suing ;  but  the  casual- 
ties of  human  existence  were  a  terrific 
possibility,  and  it  seemed  almost  madness 
to  be  putting  the  ocean  between  them. 
They  were  both  young  and  healthy  j  but 
so  had  George  Churchill  been !  Last 
time  it  had  been  his  death  that  had  come 
so  unexpectedly.  This  time  it  might  be 
hers  !  For  several  moments  he  dallied 
with  the  temptation  to  tell  the  driver  to 
turn  about  and  take  him  back  to  his 
hotel. 

He  was  strong  enough,  however,  to 
keep  before  him  the  principle  which  he 
had  incorporated  into  his  life  as  it  touched 
hers,  and  he  drove  on  to  the  steamer. 

He  went  at  once  to  look  for  his  mail, 
and  found  several  letters  that  he  had  ex- 
pected, and  a  black-bordered  one,  in  a 
familiar  hand,  which  he  had  not  expected. 
His  heart  throbbed.  He  could  hardly  keep 
a  smile  of  self-betrayal  from  his  lips  and 
eyes.  He  went  quickly  to  his  stateroom, 
in  order  to  read  it  alone. 
Si 


A  Realized  Ideal 

He  stood  and  toyed  with  it  a  moment 
before  opening  it.  How  sweet  it  was  of 
her  to  write  to  him  on  the  steamer  !  She 
must  care  something  to  do  that.  How 
adorable  she  was !  How  exquisite  ! 
A  keen  memory  of  the  delicious  en- 
chantment of  her  presence  swept  over 
him.  He  saw  her  seated,  with  May 
on  her  lap,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him. 
As  if  he  could  have  borne  to  take  it ! 
The  thought  of  it  made  him  smile.  His 
only  possible  course  had  been  to  ignore 
the  sweet  overture.  If  he  had  taken  that 
hand  and  held  it,  all  would  have  been  over 
with  him,  one  way  or  the  other.  The 
flood-gates  would  have  been  opened  at 
that  touch  —  the  torrents  have  rushed 
through. 

Being  quite  alone,  and  free  to  do  a  silly 
thing,  he  pressed  his  lips  against  the  small 
black  seal  before  he  broke  it  and  opened 
the  folded  sheet.  His  brows  contracted 
as  he  read  it.  The  coolness  of  it  sent  a 
little  chill  along  his  veins.  But  gradually 
82 


A  Realized  Ideal 

his  expression  changed.  The  muscles  of 
his  mouth  relaxed,  and  when  he  got  to  the 
end  he  smiled. 

The  smile  deepened,  as  he  read  the 
brief  letter  through  again.  It  was  a  very 
artless  thing.  The  effort  in  it  was  so  ev- 
ident that  Drury  felt  a  real  exhilaration 
from  it.  He  recognized  its  spirit  of  com- 
punction and  asked  himself  what  it  was 
for.  It  was  a  letter  which  keenly  piqued 
an  answer.  He  remembered  that  the 
pilot  would  take  letters  back,  and  getting 
out  the  small  leather  writing-case  which 
had  been  part  of  his  African  equipment 
he  sat  down  and  wrote  her  a  cool  and 
friendly  letter,  accepting  everything  on  the 
lines  which  she  had  laid  down.  He  took 
this  and  put  it  into  the  pilot's  bag,  and 
then  made  his  way  on  deck,  with  a  sense 
of  elation  in  his  heart. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  long  cor- 
respondence. Drury  would  not  permit 
himself  to  write  again  until  he  got  her 
answer  to  that  letter.  It  was  somewhat 
83 


A  Realized  Ideal 

slow  in  coming,  and  when  it  came  at  last 
it  gave  him  a  heartache. 

Sybil  owned  that  she  was  miserably 
depressed,  though  she  hastened  to  add 
that  she  neither  expected  nor  desired 
to  be  otherwise.  Drury  thought  of 
certain  hours  which  they  had  spent  to- 
gether, reading,  talking,  finding  out  each 
other's  tastes  and  their  agreements  and 
differences.  In  these  hours  there  had 
been  no  depression  !  There  was  one 
thing  only  in  this  letter  that  gave  him  a 
little  comfort,  and  that  was  that  she  re- 
minded him  of  the  request  which  he  had 
spoken  of  and  had  not  made,  and  she 
asked  him  to  tell  her  what  it  was,  that  she 
might  do  it.  Her  life  was  so  barren  and 
useless,  she  said,  that  if  there  was  any- 
thing that  she  could  do  to  please  a  friend, 
especially  one  bound  to  her  by  such  ties  as 
he,  she  would  be  thankful  to  do  it. 

Upon  the  answer  to  this  letter  Drury 
brought  to  bear  his  utmost  diplomacy. 
Never  in  any  transaction  of  his  varied  and 


A  Realized  Ideal 

active  life  had  he  so  weighed  values  and 
counted  costs.  Naturally  an  impetuous 
man,  he  forced  himself  to  the  most  con- 
trolled deliberation  in  these  letters  to 
Sybil. 

He  soon  became  aware  that  he  pos- 
sessed a  wonderful  power  of  divination 
about  her.  His  guesses  as  to  her  course 
in  any  given  condition  rarely  went  wrong, 
and  his  extreme  efforts  not  to  jar  or  wound 
her  were  usually  crowned  with  success. 
Occasionally  he  would  get  a  spontaneous 
letter  from  her  in  a  tone  of  friendly 
cheerfulness,  but  these  were  always  fol- 
lowed by  reaction,  which  would  show  in 
the  next. 

He  had  one  aider  and  abetter  which  he 
did  not  take  into  account.  This  was  the 
public  press.  No  woman  is  quite  without 
the  hero-worshiping  quality,  and  it  was 
impossible  but  that  this  man,  who  was  her 
tender  and  considerate  friend  and  helper 
in  every  big  and  little  interest  of  her  life, 
should  have  an  added  luster  by  reason  of 
85 


A  Realized  Ideal 

his  public  achievements  and  the  enthusi- 
astic tributes  which  they  won  for  him. 

Drury  had  written  her  that  the  favor 
he  had  wished  to  ask  was  that  she  would 
take  up  again  her  violin  practice  and 
be  ready  to  play  with  him  when  they 
should  meet  again.  Her  response  to  this 
had  been  disheartening.  She  simply  said 
that  he  had  asked  too  much,  as  she  felt 
that  she  would  never  play  again.  She 
added  that  if  he  really  wished  to  please 
and  help  her,  she  begged  him  to  believe 
her  sincere  in  the  statements  of  her  feel- 
ing which  she  had  made  to  him  from  time 
to  time.  It  was  neither  possible  nor 
proper,  she  said,  for  her  to  go  on  reiterat- 
ing herself  as  to  the  way  in  which  her 
past  bore  on  the  present,  but  he  must  ac- 
cept her  for  what  she  was,  a  broken- 
hearted woman  who  had  no  motive  for 
living  except  that  which  existed  in  her 
child. 

When  Drury  read  this  letter  he  felt 
that  the  sacred  Palace  of  Truth  was  quite 
86 


A  Realized  Ideal 

vacant  now,  as  far,  at  least,  as  Sybil's  oc- 
cupancy had  gone.  He  had  planted  his 
foot  there,  however,  and  he  pledged  him- 
self to  stay  and  take  the  consequences. 

About  this  time  it  happened  that  Drury 
fell  ill.  He  would  gladly  have  kept  this 
knowledge  from  Sybil,  but  he  was  forced 
to  break  some  public  engagements,  and 
every  newspaper  in  the  two  countries 
seemed  to  have  chronicled  the  fact.  The 
accounts  were  a  good  deal  exaggerated,  for 
he  was  at  no  time  in  danger,  but  it  served 
him  a  good  turn,  for  it  brought  him  a  cable 
from  Sybil,  which  set  his  heart  to  pump- 
ing its  rather  sluggish  blood  so  valiantly 
that  he  declared  it  was  the  beginning  of 
his  recovery.  The  message  had  run  thus : 

Send  me  tidings.  Am  most  anxious  and 
unhappy.  S. 

To  this  he  cabled,  in  reply : 

Infinite  thanks.  Am  recovering.  Sea  voy- 
age recommended.  Will  see  you  soon.  P. 


87 


VIII 

Sybil  was  alone  in  her  own  room  when 
Drury's  telegram  was  brought  to  her. 
She  saw  that  the  dispatch  was  a  cable 
message,  but  would  it  be  from  him  or  — 
about  him  ?  Her  anxiety  invented  a  dozen 
terrible  possibilities.  She  was  afraid  to 
open  the  yellow  envelope.  The  intensity 
of  her  anxiety  revealed  to  her  plainly  cer- 
tain things  which  she  had  continually  de- 
nied to  her  heart,  but  she  was  far  too  pre- 
occupied now  to  take  account  of  that.  All 
her  soul  was  roused  to  fear.  What  would 
she  do  if  this  message  contained  the  aw- 
ful tidings  which  it  might  contain  ?  What 
would  become  of  her  ?  She  had  said  that 
she  had  no  care,  no  interest  in  life  except 
her  child.  It  had  been  a  falsehood, 
almost  a  deliberate  one.  Was  she  to  be 


A  Realized  Ideal 

punished  for  that  now  ?  She  felt  herself 
trembling  and  turning  faint.  This  sus- 
pense was  terrible.  At  last,  by  a  great 
effort,  she  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read 
the  message. 

The  reaction  was  so  great  that  she  was 
absolutely  dazed.  He  was  not  dead  or 
dying,  then  !  He  was  getting  well,  and 
was  apparently  cheerful !  He  was  com- 
ing to  America  !  The  direction  of  the 
prescribed  sea  voyage  had  no  doubt  been 
decided  by  himself.  What  if  her  cable  had 
decided  it?  She  did  not  want  him  to  come 
to  America,  but  how  could  she  stop  him  ? 

Her  deed  was  as  an  arrow  loosed  from 
the  bow ;  it  was  impossible  to  recall  it. 
The  relief  of  knowing  that  he  was  not  in 
danger  was  very  great,  but  simultaneously 
with  it  came  thoughts  that  tormented 
her.  She  tried  not  to  think — to  force  her 
thoughts,  at  least  into  channels  that  led 
away  from  Drury;  but  the  effort  was  futile. 

She  occupied  herself  with  May  until 
evening  came  and  the  child  was  put  to 
89 


A   Realized  Ideal 

bed.  Then  those  dominating  and  insist- 
ent thoughts  rushed  back  and  fought  so 
valiantly  for  the  stronghold  of  her  mind 
that  at  last,  in  desperation,  she  got  out  her 
violin  and  began  to  practice  scales.  She 
had  often,  long  ago,  used  this  method  for 
the  prevention  of  unpermitted  thoughts, 
and  she  found  that  it  served  its  purpose 
now  better  than  anything  else  that  she 
could  do. 

When  she  at  last  put  the  violin  away, 
she  was  feeling  calmer  and  more  ra- 
tional. She  got  out  Philip  Drury's  letters 
resolved  to  read  them  all  over  with  a  view 
to  the  adjustment  of  future  relations. 
They  extended  over  many  months,  and 
were  in  many  notes  of  grave  and  gay. 
Their  perusal  left  her  as  confused  and 
helpless  as  ever. 

She  had  felt,  a  few  hours  back,  that  to 
see  him  no  more  was  what  she  could  not 
bear,  but  now  the  thought  of  seeing  him 
seemed  to  tax  her  endurance  almost  as 
far! 

90 


IX 

If  ever  a  man  came  to  a  task  with  res- 
olution, that  was  Philip  Drury's  state  of 
mind  when  he  arrived  in  America.  He 
had  settled  up  his  affairs  abroad  and  was 
now  come  to  begin  the  real  work  and  ef- 
fort of  his  life  in  his  own  country.  Ban- 
ished forever  were  all  thoughts  of  further 
African  explorations.  It  was  a  fascinat- 
ing field,  but  he  had  done  his  part,  and 
there  were  others  who  would  follow  where 
he  had  opened  the  way.  He  had  other 
plans  in  life  which  were  quite  as  important, 
and  perhaps  more  practical,  and  he  could 
not  now  separate  himself  from  the  coun- 
try in  which  Sybil  lived,  with  no  barrier  to 
his  possible  winning  of  her. 

In  the  early  and  ardent  years  of  his  man- 
hood he  had  studied  and  thought  much 
9' 


A  Realized  Ideal 

upon  philanthropy  and  socialism;  and  al- 
though he  had  abandoned  these  avenues  of 
effort  for  his  African  adventures,  the 
impulses  to  which  they  had  given  rise  had 
lain  in  the  prepared  soil  of  his  mind  and 
were  now  springing  into  life  and  ready  to 
bear  fruit.  He  had  a  good  fortune  of  his 
own,  and  influence  by  which  he  could 
command  the  use  of  money;  and  more 
than  this,  he  believed  that  certain  ideas 
of  his  could,  if  put  into  practical  opera- 
tion, be  made  of  use  to  his  fellow-beings 
and  his  age. 

The  inertia  which  had  possessed  him  for 
some  years  of  his  life,  and  which  he  had 
declared  that  civilization  always  engendered 
in  him,  was  utterly  gone.  This  fact  he  ex- 
plained to  his  own  heart  by  the  influence 
which  Sybil  had  brought  to  bear  upon  his 
life.  She  was  his  ideal  lady,  and  he  must 
try  to  do  such  deeds  as  might  make  him 
worthy  to  become  her  knight. 

The  fancy  took  him  to  come  unan- 
nounced into  Sybil's  presence.  He  had  not 
92 


A  Realized  Ideal 

given  her  the  name  and  date  of  the  vessel 
by  which  he  had  taken  passage.  He  had 
merely  said  that  just  as  soon  as  he  could 
settle  up  his  affairs  in  Europe  he  would 
come  to  America,  to  remain  permanently. 
Sybil's  answer  to  his  cable  had  been  rather 
a  chilling  note,  saying  that  the  exaggerated 
newspaper  accounts  had  been  to  blame  for 
her  impetuous  and  most  unnecessary  tele- 
gram, and  that  he  had  been  very  good  not 
to  be  annoyed  at  it. 

It  was  a  warm  day  in  early  summer 
when  Drury  got  off  the  train  at  the  station 
near  Sybil's  pretty  home,  and  walked  the 
short  distance  that  led  through  its  wooded 
grounds  to  the  house.  There  was  no  one 
in  sight;  but  a  few  paces  from  the  house 
he  paused,  checked  by  a  sound,  vibrating, 
resonant,  piercingly  sweet.  It  came  from 
a  violin  played  by  practiced  hands,  out  of 
the  motive  of  a  full  heart.  A  sense  of 
weakness  seized  him.  Had  he  strength 
for  the  long  siege  and  patient  waiting  that 
must  be  before  this  fortified  and  guarded 
93 


A  Realized  Ideal 

heart  would  surrender  to  him  ?  Would  it 
ever  so  surrender? 

Treading  cautiously,  he  swiftly  crossed 
the  porch  and  approached  one  of  the  low 
windows  that  opened  into  the  drawing- 
room.  A  line  dividing  the  white  muslin 
curtains  gave  him  a  full  view  of  the  in- 
terior of  the  charming  room.  Before  a 
music  stand,  only  a  few  paces  from  where 
he  was,  stood  Sybil,  dressed  in  white. 
Her  loose  sleeves  fell  backward  from  her 
fair  and  rounded  arms,  which  were  raised 
to  violin  and  bow,  while  her  body,  slender 
and  supple  as  a  girl's,  swayed  slightly  from 
side  to  side,  accompanying  the  rise  and 
fall  of  the  exquisite  music  which  she 
played.  An  open  sheet  was  on  the  rack 
before  her,  but  she  merely  glanced  at  it 
now  and  then,  depending  more  upon  her 
heart  than  her  vision  for  the  correctness 
of  the  strain. 

Her  profile  was  toward  him,  the  coil  of 
pale  brown  hair  outlined  distinctly  above 
the  exquisite  nuque.  The  three  little  points 
94 


A  Realized  Ideal 

at  brow,  temple,  and  ear  were  plainly  visi- 
ble, even  to  their  shade  of  color,  seeming 
to  darken  against  the  pure  white  of  her 
skin.  Below  them,  under  dark  brows 
almost  level  in  their  delicate  sweep,  looked 
out  the  plaintive  eyes  of  Sybil,  screened  by 
long  lashes  and  half-lowered  lids.  The 
straight  nose,  the  distinct  lips — the  lower 
one  slightly  sucked  in  and  drooping  at  the 
corners  —  the  rounded  chin  curving  into 
the  white  throat,  against  which  the  violin 
rested,  all  these  things  made  up  a  vision 
before  which  his  soul  fell  on  its  knees.  In 
his  body  he  remained  intensely  still,  for 
she  was  very  near,  and  the  slightest  mo- 
tion might  betray  him.  Now,  as  at  some 
passionately  loving  strain  that  mounted 
piercingly  high  and  sweet,  she  turned  her 
face  upward,  with  eyes  and  brows  uplifted, 
too,  as  if  to  join  in  the  exquisite  aspira- 
tion, those  beauteous  eyes  expressed  so 
unconsciously  the  hunger  of  her  heart  that 
Drury  feared  and  trembled.  He  could 
not  bear  it ;  it  was  too  sweet. 
95 


A  Realized  Ideal 

Turning,  he  made  his  way  into  the  shel- 
tered recesses  of  the  garden,  there  to  do 
battle  with  a  temptation  stronger  than  any 
he  had  yet  endured,  by  so  much  as  Sybil,  in 
the  self-betrayal  of  complete  unconscious- 
ness, was  lovelier  than  either  memory  or 
imagination  had  pictured  her.  For  many 
moments  he  remained  there,  walking  rest- 
lessly up  and  down  and  digging  his  stick 
into  the  earth,  as  if  eager  for  some  visible, 
palpable  obstruction  to  contend  with  in 
the  place  of  these  powerful  intangibili- 
ties. When  at  last  he  dared  to  go  forth, 
he  walked  resolutely  toward  the  porch, 
stepped  through  the  low  window  and  en- 
tered the  drawing-room,  where  Sybil  stood 
before  the  music-stand  as  he  had  left 
her. 

His  entrance  startled  her,  and  she  turned 
to  look.  Her  hands  fell,  dropping  bow  and 
violin  against  her  sides.  A  deep  flush  rose 
to  her  cheeks,  a  light  to  her  eyes. 

"  Thank  God  for  such  a  welcome !  "  he 
cried  in  his  passionate  heart,  although  an 
96 


A  Realized  Ideal 

instant  later  her  cheek  had  paled  and  her 
eyes  dropped  beneath  the  gaze  of  his.  He 
clasped  her  hand  a  moment,  taking  from 
it  the  bow  which  she  had  forgotten  to  lay 
down  ;  then  he  said,  with  a  bold  smile  of 
joy,  which  he  made  no  effort  to  suppress : 

"  I  am  fortunate  to  find  you  so.  I  like 
you  in  this  white  gown,  Sybil,  and  I  am 
delighted  with  your  occupation." 

She  shrank  and  froze,  as  he  had  known 
she  would;  but  there  was  ground  that 
must  be  covered,  there  were  words  that 
must  be  spoken,  before  he  could  get  near 
enough  to  make  his  fight  for  the  fortified 
citadel  and  win  the  day,  for  win  he  would 
and  should !  Never  had  he  felt  so  mighty 
a  necessity  of  victory  before. 

"  You  should  have  warned  me,"  she 
said,  laying  down  her  violin  and  sinking 
back  into  a  chair.  "  You  should  not  have 
taken  me  by  surprise." 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"Because  I  was  unprepared — " 

"What  preparation  could  you  possibly 
97 


A  Realized  Ideal 

want  to  receive    me,  Sybil?     Surely  we 
have  got  beyond  such  forms  as  that." 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  confusedly.  "I 
understand  that.  But  this  dress  !  I  wear 
it  only  in  the  morning,  because  it  is  so  hot 
and  no  one  sees  me.  It  is  n't  suitable,  I 
know.  I  had  not  expected  to  see  any- 
one." 

"  Not  suitable  ?  A  thin,  white  gown 
like  that  not  suitable  for  a  young,  fragile 
woman  in  a  hot  climate  ?  Dear  Sybil, 
come  back  with  me  again  into  the  Palace 
of  Truth.  Your  feet  have  wandered  of 
late.  Life  is  so  earnest;  there  is  so  much 
to  do  with  it,  and  reality  is  the  first  essen- 
tial in  that  work.  The  past  is  past,  but 
there  is  one  way  by  which  we  can  make 
it  worthy,  and  that  is  by  evolving  from  it 
a  noble  present,  out  of  which  a  high 
and  splendid  future  may  ultimately  come. 
Make  this  use  of  your  past,  I  beseech 
you,  Sybil.  The  world's  need  is  great. 
You  have  no  right  to  fold  your  hands  and 
turn  away." 

98 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"  The  world  can  have  no  need  of  me," 
she  said.  "  Except  to  help  my  child,  my 
life  is  useless." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  kind  of  you  to  forget 
me  quite  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  forget  you.  But  you  are  a 
gifted  and  important  man ;  you  can  live 
your  life  and  do  your  service  to  the  world 
without  me." 

"  Suppose  I  say  that  I  cannot  ?  I  will 
not  say  it,  for  a  strong  man  ought  to  de- 
pend upon  himself.  What  I  will  say,  how- 
ever, is  that  I  cannot  do  half  so  much  or 
so  well  without  you.  I  need  your  help 
vitally ;  I  should  be  crippled  without  it." 

"  My  help  ?     What  can  I  do  ? " 

"  You  can  give  me  the  inspiration  of 
your  presence  and  the  consolation  of  your 
sympathy.  Like  many  another  who  has 
failed,  I  have  plans  for  helping  the  world. 
Perhaps  it  may  be  that  I  shall  not  fail.  If 
I  do,  the  mere  effort  will  be  a  sort  of  suc- 
cess that  I  shall  not  despise.  But,  Sybil, 
I  need  you  in  this  effort — your  spiritual 
99 


A  Realized  Ideal 

help,  and  your  actual,  practical  help,  too. 
I  do  not  see  my  way  to  carrying  it  out 
without  the  aid  of  a  woman's  fine  intui- 
tions and  effectual  service.  If,  as  you  say, 
you  feel  your  life  useless,  be  my  partner 
in  this  work." 

The  fire  of  his  earnestness  was  not 
without  its  effect  upon  her.  There  seemed 
to  come  a  sudden  revelation  of  how  little 
she  had  ever  tried  to  do  in  discharging  any 
duty  that  she  owed  to  others  besides  her 
husband  and  child. 

"  I  have  been  idle  and  indifferent,  I 
fear,"  she  said,  "but  it  is  partly  because, 
though  I  have  felt  sorry  for  the  trouble  of 
the  world,  I  have  never  had  any  idea  that 
I  could  help  it.  I  cannot  possibly  be- 
lieve it  now." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  show  you,"  he  said. 
"My  plans  are  at  least  thoroughly  formu- 
lated and  definite.  Let  me  sketch  them 
to  you  briefly." 

All  the  while  that  he  talked  she  listened 
with  an  ever  deepening  interest.  It  was 

100 


A  Realized  Ideal 

an  hour  of  soul-expansion,  which  did  the 
work  of  many  profitless  years.  It  was  as 
if  in  a  sea  of  drowning  myriads  a  great 
steamer  had  come  in  sight,  manned  and 
equipped  to  save  some  thousands,  though 
the  greater  part  should  perish.  Still,  if 
help  for  some  had  come,  help  for  more 
might  be  behind  it,  and  she  seemed  for 
the  first  time  to  see  the  word  Hope  writ- 
ten upon  the  face  of  suffering  humanity. 
Her  countenance  grew  ardent  with  her 
deepened  feeling. 

"  You  have  seemed  to  change  the  whole 
aspect  of  human  obligation  to  me,"  she 
said.  "  Heretofore  I  have  thought  it 
enough  if  I  could  attain  to  blamelessness." 

"  Blamelessness,"  he  said,  "  I  hold  to 
be  a  thing  of  very  little  worth.  Mere 
rectitude  of  conduct  can  place  no  man  or 
woman  on  a  really  high  plane.  Rather, 
far  rather,  I  should  prefer  a  character  with 
generous  faults,  who  commits  wrongs  and 
rises  on  them  as  stepping-stones  to  higher 
things.  The  men  or  women  who  go  through 


A  Realized  Ideal 

the  world  merely  blameless  look  out  for 
themselves  and  their  own  security,  no 
doubt,  but  how  are  others  bettered  by  their 
lives  ?  I  have  heard  a  man  say  vauntingly, 
in  reprobation  of  another's  fault,  '  No  man 
ever  lost  anything  by  me,'  and  I've  thought, 
1  No,  nor  gained  anything  by  you,  either  ! 
You  have  gone  through  the  world  with 
clear  skirts  of  your  own,  and  have  thought 
only  of  keeping  them  so.  But  have  you 
ever  helped  any  one  ? ' ' 

Sybil  looked  at  him  with  absorbed  in- 
terest. 

"Whether  I  can  help  you  or  not,"  she 
said,  "  I  see  already  that  you  can  and  will 
help  me.  How  callous  and  indolent  I  have 
been,  when  there  is  so  much  to  do  !  You 
are  very  good  to  think  me  worthy  of  giv- 
ing you  help.  I  will  do  it  if  I  can." 

Drury's  eyes  kindled. 

"  Sybil,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  help  you. 
You  cannot  get  help  unless  you  will  be, 
before  everything,  honest  and  sincere. 
Even  yet  I  can  see  that  you  are  putting 


A  Realized  Ideal 

artificial  restrictions  on  yourself,  on  your 
dress,  habits,  et  cetera.  Why  is  this  ?  Is 
it  because  time  and  nature  have  done  noth- 
ing in  your  case  ?  Because  your  grief  for 
your  husband  is  absolutely  unassuaged  ?  " 

She  flushed  hotly,  and  under  his  bold, 
direct  glance  her  eyes  fell. 

u  You  are  cruel,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
never  been  married,  or  you  could  not  speak 
so." 

"  It  is  possible,  of  course,  that  I  do  not 
know  myself,"  he  said,  "  but  I  am  certain 
that  you  are  mistaken.  If  I  had  been  mar- 
ried and  had  lost  my  wife,  I  think  I  should 
know,  in  looking  back  through  the  per- 
spective of  time,  whether  that  marriage 
was  the  ideal  union  of  man  and  woman  or 
not;  whether  it  fulfilled  all  the  conditions 
—  not  only  love,  but  congeniality,  sympa- 
thy, combined  spiritual  endeavor,  intel- 
lectual accord,  and  every  element  that 
makes  for  development,  for  the  marriage 
which  develops  not  misses  the  best  aim 
and  end  of  marriage.  If  I  had  been  the 
103 


A  Realized  Ideal 

blessed  partner  in  such  a  marriage  as  that, 
I  think  I  should  well  know  that  it  was  a 
blending  of  two  souls  for  eternity  as  well 
as  time,  and  that  only  by  the  plainest  self- 
abasement  could  I  have  the  thought  of  an- 
other marriage.  But  if  it  had  been  other- 
wise, I  think  I  should  not  cheat  myself, 
but  should  frankly  own  the  truth.  Shams 
are  bad  enough  anywhere,  but  sham  feel- 
ings, sham  spiritual  doctrines,  sham  prac- 
tice on  a  subject  as  holy  and  vital  as  love 
and  marriage,  these  are  the  very  worst  of 
all." 

He  rose  as  he  ended,  and  moved  away 
from  her,  bending  to  read  the  title  of  the 
sheet  of  music  on  the  stand,  that  he  might 
relieve  her  from  the  embarrassment  of  his 
gaze.  He  knew  he  had  been  bold,  perhaps 
rough  —  but  these  ideas  must  be  got  into  her 
mind,  and  he  could  not  beat  about  the  bush. 
She  did  not  love  him  —  it  was  uncertain 
if  she  ever  would  ;  but  if  he  ever  won  her, 
he  must  feel  that  her  mind  and  will  and 
spirit  consented  to  him  as  well  as  her 
104 


A  Realized  Ideal 

heart.  It  would  be  a  victory  for  which  he 
would  not  care  if  she  came  to  him  from 
mere  love.  That  was  his  theory  of  her 
first  marriage,  and  he  felt  that  he  would 
sooner  lose  her  than  have  a  repetition  of 
the  conditions  which  had  governed  that. 
He  saw  now  that  she  was  agitated  and 
unnerved.  With  the  hope  of  relieving 
her  he  said,  still  looking  away  from  her: 

"  May  n't  I  see  May?  Perhaps  I  have 
wearied  you  by  my  long  talk,  and  you 
would  like  to  go  and  rest.  If  you  would 
let  May  come  and  talk  to  me — and  forgive 
me,  Sybil,  if  I  have  hurt  where  I  so  in- 
tensely wished  and  meant  to  heal.  This 
issue  between  you  and  me  is  an  all-impor- 
tant one,  and  there  is  no  salvation  for 
either  of  us  but  in  absolute  truth." 

She  did  not  speak,  she  did  not  even  look 
toward  him,  as  she  rose  and  left  the  room. 


X 

Having  sent  May  to  Drury  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, Sybil  was  now  in  her  own 
apartment  alone.  She  had  locked  the  door 
behind  her,  and  with  an  impulse  to  look 
herself  in  the  face,  she  walked  over  to  the 
mirror  and  stood  there,  her  hands  clenched 
together  and  her  eyes,  under  contracted 
brows,  fixed  on  their  own  reflection.  Her 
breath  came  thick  and  short,  and  her  lower 
lip  was  caught  between  her  teeth.  As  she 
gazed  into  the  reflection  of  her  face  a  hot 
flush,  seen  in  the  image  and  felt  in  the 
reality,  rose  to  her  cheeks. 

With  a  little  cry  she  turned  away  and 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  Just  as  she 
saw  herself  in  the  mirror  had  Philip  Drury 
shown  her  the  reflection  of  her  soul.  She 
had  struggled  against  the  belief,  but  she 
106 


A  Realized  Ideal 

saw  now  how  little  of  real  union  there 
had  ever  been  between  George  Churchill 
and  herself;  scarcely  one  point  of  contact 
except  that  of  love  —  "mere  love,"  as 
Philip  had  half-scornfully  called  it.  They 
had  loved  each  other — that  she  need  not 
question  —  but  when  she  asked  herself  if 
love  alone  could  preserve  the  union  of  two 
souls,  not  otherwise  united,  her  heart  told 
her  that  it  could  not.  Was  it  even  sufficient 
for  its  own  continued  existence  ?  Would  it 
not  have  dwindled  and  diminished,  as  time 
went  on  ?  Had  it  not  already  sensibly 
done  so,  if  rhe  would  honestly  recall  the 
last  half  of  her  married  life  and  compare 
it  with  the  first  ?  She  was  bound  to  own 
this  to  herself,  but  she  still  struggled  pas- 
sionately against  the  thought  of  owning  it 
to  any  other.  Surely  she  was  not  bound 
to  do  this  ;  surely  she  had  a  right  to  keep  in 
her  own  heart  a  secret  that  was  her  shame  ! 
Suddenly  there  came  to  her  a  swift 
vision  of  her  husband  as  she  had  seen  him 
last — the  stalwart,  bright  young  being,  cut 
107 


A  Realized  Ideal 

down  at  a  blow  and  lying  still  in  death — 
and  the  pity  of  it  wrenched  her  heart  with 
a  new  and  keener  sense  of  anguish  than 
she  had  felt  even  at  the  time.  Why  was 
this  ? — she  asked  herself,  and  her  heart  was 
swift  to  answer.  It  was  because  the  natu- 
ral emotions  of  that  hour  had  made  him 
seem  the  unique  desired,  the  eternally  re- 
gretted of  her  soul. 

In  that  time  of  her  passionate  and  over- 
whelming grief  her  heart's  apotheosis  of 
him  seemed  to  give  a  value  and  a  luster  to 
his  individuality,  in  death  as  well  as  life, 
which,  in  spite  of  his  sudden  and  untimely 
end,  made  it  seem  as  if  he  had  not  lived  in 
vain.  But  if  this  was  no  longer  so,  if 
with  the  perspective  of  time,  the  broaden- 
ing of  faculty,  the  development  of  moral 
consciousness,  that  high  place  was  taken 
from  him,  and  she  gave  him  now,  instead 
of  an  utterly  false  deification,  nothing 
greater  than  a  gentle  love,  a  tender  mem- 
ory, a  just  estimate  of  his  lovable  but 
somewhat  slight  and  shallow  character, 
108 


A  Realized  Ideal 

the  gain  she  had  made  was  abstract  truth, 
which  might  pass  into  light  and  strength 
for  her  for  the  future,  but  was  now  a  keen, 
pathetic  pain.  She  was  inexperienced  in 
the  realities  of  living,  and  she  did  not  yet 
know  how  surely  and  strictly  every  gain 
is  to  be  paid  for.  She  had  made  her  way 
to  a  new  truth,  and  she  was  now  paying 
for  it  in  the  acute  pain  of  compunction. 
She  called  herself  faithless.  She  said  he 
would  have  loved  her  better.  "  But 
would  he  ?"  the  voice  of  truth  suggested. 
During  their  marriage  her  whole  thought 
had  been  of  him,  while  he  had  had  a  dozen 
absorbing  outside  interests.  Was  it  then 
likely  that,  were  conditions  now  reversed, 
he  would  be  inviolately  faithful  to  her 
memory,  when  she  was  not  so  to  his  ?  For 
Sybil  now  owned  this  defection  to  herself, 
though  she  fought  pathetically  for  sanction 
from  this  new  dictator  in  her  conscience 
never  to  own  it  to  another  being.  She 
thought  of  her  husband  with  tears  of  poig- 
nant pity.  Poor  George  !  He  had  long 
109 


A  Realized  Ideal 

been  dead  in  the  body,  but  it  almost 
seemed  to  her  that  on  this  day  his  soul 
had  died  also,  and  that  she  had  killed  it! 

There  was  no  marked  individuality  in 
her  husband  for  memory  to  fix  upon, — no 
powerful,  definite  traits  which  seemed  too 
strong  to  die,  such  as  she  well  knew  in 
another  man !  She  made  a  gesture  of 
protest,  as  if  she  would  thrust  from  her  a 
thought  which  made  its  approach  to  her 
boldly  through  the  silence  and  the  still- 
ness. 

For  the  return  of  Philip  Drury,  after 
the  fright  which  she  had  had  about  him, 
had  been  a  keen  shock  to  her,  whether  of 
pain  or  pleasure  she  could  not  tell,  they 
were  so  subtly  mingled.  Sharp,  delicious 
little  heart-pricks  came  to  her  now  as  she 
thought  of  him  playing  with  May  down- 
stairs. Surely  it  was  no  wrong  to  any 
other  that  he  had  become  her  hero,  her 
enthusiasm  !  Others  felt  the  same  who 
had  not  even  seen  him,  for  a  magnetism 
went  forth  from  him  which  had  permeated 
no 


A  Realized  Ideal 

every  part  of  civilization  and  created  a 
culte  for  him  among  both  men  and  women. 
She  read  of  it  continually  in  the  papers ; 
she  had  even  known  instances  of  it  in  her 
own  acquaintance.  His  desperate  dangers 
and  narrow  escapes  in  Africa  fired  the 
sense  of  the  romantic,  and  his  personality, 
described  with  ardor  by  those  who  had 
seen  him  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  had 
not,  gave  the  touch  of  grace  and  breeding 
and  gentleness  that  made  a  fascinating 
blending  of  charm  and  courage. 

As  she  thought  of  all  this  she  felt  a 
subtle  influence  drawing  her  toward  the 
room  where  she  knew  that  he  was  at  this 
moment.  She  knew  that  he  was  thinking 
of  her,  and  she  was  keenly  aware  that  she 
had  it  in  her  power  to  go  to  him  in  such  a 
spirit  as  to  give  him  delight.  It  tempted 
her  powerfully,  in  spite  of  the  other  feel- 
ing that  fought  against  it. 

She  stopped  and  parleyed  with  this  temp- 
tation. She  need  commit  herself  to  noth- 
ing, only  go  down  in  the  white  dress  he 
in 


A  Realized  Ideal 

had  been  pleased  to  see  her  in,  and  talk  to 
him  and  the  child  out  of  the  spontaneous 
impulse  of  kindness  and  good  will  which 
was  welling  in  her  heart.  She  could  even 
play  him  some  of  the  music  she  had  been 
practicing  recently,  without  the  least  com- 
promise of  the  position  which  her  tradi- 
tions declared  appropriate  for  a  woman 
placed  as  she  was.  It  was  what  she 
longed  to  do,  what  nothing  but  her  fear 
of  subsequent  regret  held  her  back  from. 

Every  moment  the  impulse  was 
strengthening,  and  the  reasons  against  it 
weakening,  when  there  came  a  knock  at 
the  door.  It  proved  to  be  May  and  her 
nurse,  come  to  say  that  Mr.  Drury  had 
returned  to  town.  He  had  left  word  that 
he  had  an  engagement  for  the  evening, 
but  would  come  out  again  to-morrow 
morning  to  attend  to  some  business  mat- 
ters with  Mrs.  Churchill. 


112 


XI 

Sybil  waked  next  morning  with  a  sense 
of  gladness  in  her  heart — a  consciousness 
of  the  nearness  of  some  good  and  pleasant 
thing.  With  the  realization  of  what  that 
good  thing  was,  there  came  again  the 
shadow  of  compunction,  but  for  the  first 
time  she  deliberately  exerted  her  will  to 
drive  it  away. 

After  her  breakfast  with  May  she  opened 
the  morning  paper.  The  first  thing  that 
met  her  eyes  was  a  column  on  the  front 
page  beginning  with  the  great  head-lines  : 

u  Honors  to  Drury.  Magnificent  Ban- 
quet. Great  Enthusiasm.  Speeches  by 
the  Explorer  and  Other  Distinguished 
Men." 

Her  heart  beat  quickly.  She  was  glad 
that  only  May  was  by  to  see  the  color  that 
"3 


A  Realized  Ideal 

blazed  in  her  face.  She  read  through  the 
two  or  three  columns  devoted  to  this  sub- 
ject and  giving  the  speeches.  At  Drury's 
speech  her  enthusiasm  positively  exhilarat- 
ed her;  she  read  it  twice,  and  then  turned 
to  the  editorial  columns.  Here  she  found 
gravely  considered  the  significance  and 
importance  of  his  achievements.  It  was 
a  tribute  which  thrilled  her  with  pride. 

But  as  she  put  the  paper  down  there 
was  a  mist  before  her  eyes;  all  this  seemed 
to  give  her  a  sense  of  her  remoteness  from 
him.  She  feared  that  she  had  exaggerated 
his  interest  in  her.  Of  course,  so  great 
and  good  a  man  as  this  would  be  kind  to 
all  and  faithful  to  every  obligation  !  It  was, 
perhaps,  a  species  of  conceit  that  had 
caused  her  to  attach  such  significance  to 
words  and  looks  which  might  easily  be 
made  to  wear  a  more  indifferent  aspect. 
A  sense  of  fear  seized  her.  If  this  should 
indeed  be  true  !  Once  she  had  feared  for 
the  contrary. 

During  the  hours  that  elapsed  before  she 
114 


A  Realized  Ideal 

could  reasonably  expect  him  she  went 
through  so  many  changes  of  mood  that  any 
definite  idea  of  what  she  really  thought 
and  wished  would  be  impossible.  She  had 
guessed  that  he  would  come  by  the  train 
which  he  had  taken  yesterday,  and  when 
that  was  nearly  due  she  went  to  her  room 
to  prepare  herself  to  see  him. 

As  she  stood  before  the  mirror  she  was 
almost  startled  at  her  own  loveliness.  The 
pink  color  in  her  cheek,  the  sparkle  in  her 
eyes,  gave  her  at  first  a  throb  of  delight. 
Then  there  came  a  sudden  and  violent  re- 
action. The  vivid  pleasure  with  which 
she  was  looking  forward  to  this  meeting 
shocked  her. 

She  turned  to  her  wardrobe  to  get  out 
a  dress  for  which  to  exchange  the  pretty 
neglige  of  her  breakfast-gown.  There  were 
two  dresses  hanging  side  by  side ;  one  a 
clear,  diaphanous  white — fresh,  hopeful, 
and  girlish  in  its  aspect,  the  other  dense,  sad, 
solemn  black.  The  eagerness  with  which 
she  longed  to  take  the  first  made  her  choose 
"5 


A  Realized  Ideal 

the  second.  She  put  it  on  and  turned 
toward  the  mirror  to  adjust  it.  Again  she 
looked  at  the  face  reflected  before  her.  It 
looked  years  older.  The  color  had  faded 
from  it  and  the  eyes  were  blurred  and 
dull. 

The  whistle  of  a  train  blew,  and  she 
started.  It  was  not  his  train,  but  the  next 
one  would  be  !  Her  heart  began  to  beat 
violently  at  the  thought  of  the  nearness  of 
his  coming.  How  dull  and  ugly  she  looked 
in  this  black  gown.  She  would  not  wear 
it !  Hastily  unfastening  it  she  let  it  fall 
to  the  floor,  and  brushed  it  aside  with  her 
foot.  Then,  almost  running  to  and  fro, 
she  brought  the  white  one  and  put  it  on,  a 
look  of  something  like  defiance  in  her  face 
as  she  fastened  it. 

The  transparent  stuff  revealed  distinctly 
the  charming  modeling  of  her  rounded 
arms,  and  the  ruffle  around  the  neck  fell 
backward  from  the  white,  bare  throat.  The 
change  was  marvelous.  She  could  not 
help  smiling.  She  did  not  want  to  help  it. 
116 


A  Realized  Ideal 

A  fit  of  recklessness  was  upon  her,  as  she 
left  the  room  and  ran  lightly  down-stairs. 

She  went  to  the  spot  where  he  had  found 
her  yesterday,  and  took  out  her  violin  and 
bow.  It  exhilarated  her  to  imagine  the 
look  of  pleasure  that  would  be  on  his  face 
when  he  should  step  in  between  the  muslin 
curtains  and  find  her  thus.  She  rejoiced 
that  she  had  been  so  bold.  She  said  to 
herself  repeatedly  that  it  was  nothing.  It 
committed  her  not  in  the  least.  She  could 
draw  back  the  first  moment  that  she  felt  a 
sense  of  danger. 

Sybil  had  no  idea  of  any  latent  vein  of 
coquetry  in  her,  and  yet  it  was  that  quality 
which  gave  a  charm  and  piquancy  to  her 
appearance  now  that  made  her  look  abso- 
lutely bewitching.  Hitherto  unimagined 
dimples  came  to  view  and  dallied  about  the 
corners  of  her  mouth. 

She  had  taken  out  her  violin,  but  sud- 
denly she  felt  that  she  dared  not  touch  it. 
She  was  afraid  of  changing  her  mood.  It 
was  a  rare  feeling,  this  joyous,  inconse- 
117 


A  Realized  Ideal 

quent,  childlike  abandonment  to  feeling, 
which  had  seized  her  now.  She  wanted 
to  cherish  it,  to  woo  the  thoughts  that 
would  encourage  it  until  he  came. 

The  train  whistled,  and  a  little  throb  of 
fright  pulsed  through  her  heart.  She  real- 
ized that  to  a  man  who  perhaps  liked  her 
a  great  deal  already  she  would  be  danger- 
ously charming  to-day.  She  felt  her  cheeks 
burn,  and  she  knew  that  her  eyes  were 
sparkling. 

It  was  time  for  him  to  come.  She  heard 
the  receding  train  blow  distantly  for  the 
next  station.  He  must  surely  be  here 
soon  !  But  the  minutes  passed,  and  he  did 
not  come.  Presently  it  became  certain 
that  he  could  not  have  taken  that  train. 

As  Sybil  realized  this,  a  sudden  and  pow- 
erful revulsion  seized  her.  He  was  no 
doubt  detained  in  town  by  more  important 
engagements!  What  an  assumption  she 
had  been  guilty  of! 

Humiliated  and  bewildered  she  left  the 
drawing-room  and  fled  to  her  own  apart- 
118 


A  Realized  Ideal 

ment.  The  emotional  reaction  of  the  mo- 
ment filled  her  eyes  with  tears.  Her  throat 
ached.  The  spirit  within  her  sagged  and 
drooped  like  a  wounded  bird  ;  she  was  be- 
ing punished,  bitterly  punished,  for  that 
mood  of  levity  and  vanity.  She  looked 
upon  the  fact  of  Drury's  non-arrival  as  a 
sort  of  providence.  She  had  been  half 
wild,  and  what  might  not  have  happened  ? 

All  day  she  went  about  despondent  and 
confused.  She  had  fully  expected  a  tele- 
gram of  apology  and  explanation  from 
Drury,  but  it  had  not  come. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  dressed  in  her 
dense  black,  she  sat  down  on  the  porch  to 
read  to  May.  She  hoped  by  the  perform- 
ance of  this  accustomed  act  to  clear  the 
bewilderment  of  her  thoughts  and  feelings. 
It  did  not  answer,  however,  for  she  found 
it  impossible  to  attend,  and  the  child  com- 
plained that  she  could  not  understand  her. 
It  was  a  relief  when  the  gathering  shadows 
gave  her  an  excuse  to  stop. 

She  and  May  had  tea  together,  but  still 
119 


A  Realized  Ideal 

there  came  no  sign  or  message.  Then 
suddenly  she  began  to  get  anxious.  It 
was  her  custom  to  put  May  to  bed  herself, 
and  stay  with  her  until  she  went  to  sleep. 
She  tried  hard,  however,  this  evening  to 
keep  the  child  awake.  She  felt  inexpres- 
sibly nervous  and  lonely.  She  sat  in  the 
child's  room  until  it  was  too  late  for  any 
probability  of  Drury's  coming,  then,  feel- 
ing half  stifled  by  the  heat,  she  put  on  a 
white  gown  and  went  outside  under  the 
stars. 


120 


XII 

The  garden  was  hushed  and  shadowy 
as  Sybil  wandered  down  the  walk  alone. 
It  was  not  a  prudent  thing  to  do,  but  she 
was  preoccupied  by  a  fear  that  was  stronger 
than  any  personal  timidity.  The  papers 
had  given  accounts  of  many  cases  of  pros- 
tration from  the  heat,  some  with  fatal  re- 
sults, and  remembering  Drury's  recent  ill- 
ness she  felt  acutely  anxious  about  him.  In 
her  preoccupation  she  wandered  far  from 
the  house,  but  suddenly  realizing  her  un- 
protectedness,  with  a  sort  of  loneliness  in 
thought,  she  turned  back.  There  were 
some  wicker  chairs  outside  the  drawing- 
room  windows,  and  she  sat  down  in  one 
of  these. 

The  thought  recurred  insistently  that 
Philip  was  ill  or  in  some  serious  trouble. 


A  Realized  Ideal 

How  much  and  how  she  cared  for  him  she 
did  not  know,  but  it  was  enough  to  make 
the  present  separation  and  suspense  almost 
unbearable.  She  longed  to  telegraph  for 
tidings  of  him,  but  she  knew  she  was  not 
near  enough  for  such  a  right  as  that.  If  he 
should  be  very  ill  she  could  not  even  go 
to  him !  At  that  thought  a  feeling  within 
her  cried  aloud  in  protest.  He  must  be 
ill  or  in  some  danger  at  this  very  moment, 
and  of  course  no  one  would  think  of  letting 
her  know!  She  would  read  about  it  in 
the  paper  to-morrow,  and  then  it  might 
be  too  late ! 

She  had  wrought  herself  into  such  a 
state  of  nervousness  that  at  the  sudden 
sound  of  a  footstep  she  started  up  with  a 
palpitating  heart,  and  at  the  sight  of  a  dark 
figure  emerging  from  the  shrubbery  she 
gave  a  little  cry.  The  next  second  she 
had  recognized  Philip  Drury  with  a  re- 
vulsion of  joy  that  so  weakened  her  that, 
as  she  sank  back  into  her  chair,  she  felt 
a  dizziness  come  over  her  which  made 

122 


A  Realized  Ideal 

it  impossible   for  her  to  trust  herself  to 
speak. 

He  came  close,  and  with  a  strong  and 
tender  touch  took  her  cold  and  tremulous 
fingers  into  his  warm  clasp. 

"  What  is  it,  Sybil?  "  he  said.  "  Have 
I  frightened  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that!"  she  said,  a  trace 
of  suffocation  in  her  breath ;  "  but  I  had 
been  so  uneasy  about  you.  I  thought  you 
were  ill  or  in  some  danger." 

A  slight  sound  escaped  him,  suggestive 
of  a  swift  spontaneous  smile. 

"  I  hoped  you  would  think  that,"  he 
said.  "  I  wanted  you  to  be  anxious.  It 
was  for  that  reason  that  I  stayed  away  — 
to  see  if  your  heart  would  not  make  some 
self-revelation  in  my  absence.  I  had 
meant  not  to  come  until  to-morrow,  but 
my  resolution  failed  me." 

She  shrank  a  little. 

"  Do  n't,  Sybil,"  he  said,  coming  to  a 
seat  very  near  her.     "  Do  n't  let  yourself 
have  any  fear  of  me.     I  assure  you  that 
123 


A  Realized  Ideal 

you  need  not.  I  am  simply  going  to  have 
an  honest  talk  with  you  about  some  most 
important  things  —  not  important  merely 
in  the  narrow  sense  which  applies  to  you, 
but  in  the  bigger  sense  which  applies  to 
all  men  and  women  situated  as  you  are 
situated.  I  want  you  to  be  quite  free  and 
fearless  with  me  and  to  answer  me  truly 
some  questions.  In  the  first  place  this : 
What  do  you  hold  to  constitute  the  indis- 
solubleness  of  the  marriage  tie  ? " 

She  did  not  answer,  and,  as  if  he  did 
not  wish  to  urge  her  into  speech,  he  went 
on: 

"  We  cannot  say  that  it  is  love,  be- 
cause that  can  and  will  exist  in  conditions 
which  destroy  the  possibility  of  high  ideals. 
We  cannot  say,  on  the  other  hand,  that  it 
is  either  the  legal  contract  or  the  church's 
decree,  for  these  are  often  empty  forms  in 
which  love  has  no  part.  It  therefore 
seems  to  me  that  where  marriage  is  indis- 
soluble it  is  so  by  reason  of  a  true  and  per- 
fect union  between  the  body,  mind,  and 
124 


A  Realized  Ideal 

spirit  of  a  man  and  woman.  For  that 
marriage  the  words  c  Till  death  us  do  part ' 
are  not  needed.  If  life  goes  on  at  all  for 
those  two  beings,  that  union  must  surely 
go  on,  too,  I  think,  for  without  it  they 
would  cease  to  be  themselves." 

There  came  no  answer. 

"Are  you  listening,  Sybil?"  he  said, 
bending  so  that  he  could  look  into  her 
face. 

u  Yes,"  she  murmured. 

There  was  only  that  one  word,  but  it 
had  an  inflection  in  it  which  conveyed 
to  him  not  only  attention,  but  agree- 
ment. 

"  Do  you  not  think,"  he  went  on, 
"  that  a  man  or  a  woman  who  had  once 
had  part  in  such  a  union  would  be  con- 
scious of  its  nature  without  possibility  of 
doubt?" 

u  Yes,"  she  said  again. 

"  And  do  you  not  think,  also,  that 
where  such  a  union  had  not  been,  that  man 
or  woman's  heart  would  know  as  surely 
125 


A  Realized  Ideal 

and    avow    its    denial  —  provided    that   it 
were  an  honest  heart  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  in  a  tone  so  low 
that  he  could  barely  catch  the  sound, 
though  in  it  he  still  recognized  her  accep- 
tation of  his  thought. 

He  did  not  know  how  well  the  way  had 
been  prepared  for  him  by  the  experience 
which  Sybil's  heart  had  felt  within  these 
hours  of  separation.  She  had  so  continually 
fooled  herself,  deliberately  or  otherwise  — 
she  was  so  self-bewildered,  that  there 
seemed  nothing  solid  for  her  to  lay  hold  of 
now  except  the  refuge  that  was  offered  her 
in  being  true  to  truth. 

"I  agree  in  what  you  say,"  she  answered, 
in  a  voice  pathetically  low  and  tremulous. 
"I  have  not  been  honest  with  myself  al- 
ways, but  I  will  try  to  be.  You  have 
shown  me  that  in  the  sea  of  doubt,  which 
seems  at  times  to  spread  on  every  side  of 
us,  truth  is  the  only  anchor.  I  will  try  to 
be  true,  but  oh,  I  did  want  to  keep  faith  — " 

Her  voice  broke  and  died  away. 
126 


A  Realized  Ideal 

"  But,  Sybil,  you  have  heard  of  such  a 
thing  as  4  faith  unfaithful ! '  You  do  not 
wish  for  such  a  faith  as  that !  " 

"  No,  no,  I  do  not!  I  give  up!  I  wish  for 
that  no  longer.  I  wish  only  for  the  highest 
faith,  and  you  have  shown  me  that  there 
is  a  higher  allegiance ;  but  I  cannot  talk 
about  it  now.  I  am  bewildered,  frightened, 
strange  to  myself.  Be  kind  to  me,  Philip, 
and  do  not  talk  to  me  about  it  now." 

"  Not  now  or  ever,  if  you  wish  me 
not  to,  dear  lady  of  my  heart,"  he  said,  his 
soul  exultant,  but  his  voice  calm.  "  My 
lips  are  sealed.  But  grant  me  one  little 
favor  in  return.  Come  into  the  drawing- 
room  and  let  us  play  together  once ! " 

She  did  not  speak  immediately ;  she  was 
hesitating  how  to  answer,  when  he  said  : 

"  Don't  refuse  me,  Sybil ;  we  may  be 
about  to  part  for  a  long  and  uncertain  time. 
You  will  not  regret  it,  if  yougrant  my  wish." 

She  got  up  then  and  passed  before  him 
through  the  low  window  into  the  dim- 
lighted  room  and  took  her  violin  from  its 
127 


A  Realized  Ideal 

case.  That  hint  of  parting  was  enough, 
little  as  she  understood  it,  in  connection 
with  the  plans  of  life  which  he  had  made. 

Quickly  tuning  her  beloved  instrument, 
she  was  about  to  make  her  selection,  when 
Philip,  seated  at  the  piano,  struck  a  few 
chords  with  a  suggestion  so  dominant  that 
she  was  fain  to  follow  where  he  led. 

They  began  to  play  together,  one  instru- 
ment seeking  and  finding  its  accord  with 
the  other,  as  soul  sought  soul.  It  was  the 
love-song  of  a  poet's  heart  that  they  played, 
and  they  were  poets  as  they  played  it ! 

The  music  ebbed  and  flowed  between 
them,  now  rising  with  a  more  vital  touch 
upon  each  heart,  and  now  sinking  into 
fainter  longing.  Deep  and  dominant  were 
the  resounding  chords  struck  by  the  man's 
strong  hands,  high  and  aspiring  the  vibrant 
notes  with  which  the  violin  in  the  woman's 
hands  responded.  They  were  very  near 
to  each  other.  Her  white  sleeve  almost 
touched  him  as  her  bow-arm  swayed  and 
her  body  lightly  bent  in  unison. 
128 


A  Realized  Ideal 

She  did  not  look  at  him.  She  dared  not. 
She  was  thinking  of  that  parting  and  a 
time  when  she  might  play  these  strains 
alone,  while  her  heart  sought  vainly  for 
the  harmony  with  which  her  soul,  as  well 
as  her  ears,  was  flooded  now. 

The  man,  however,  had  no  such  fears. 
He  was  very  bold  and  looked  with  ardent 
eyes  into  her  averted  face. 

He  knew  the  power  of  that  look.  He 
knew  that  she  felt  it  on  her.  The  room 
was  dim,  but  he  seemed  to  feel  the  sight 
of  the  deep  flush  that  suffused  her  face. 
Not  moving  his  eyes  from  that  beloved 
face  he  played  on — tones  passionately 
tender — until  the  long  preamble  led  up  to 
the  climax  of  love's  expression.  Then 
suddenly  he  took  his  hands  from  the  keys, 
and  the  silence  of  the  room  was  broken 
only  by  that  poignantly  sweet  violin-voice, 
which  for  a  moment  faltered  on  alone,  and 
then  died  away  also,  as  Sybil's  hands  fell 
nerveless,  too,  and  the  music  passed  into 
an  echo. 

129 


A  Realized  Ideal 

The  strain  had  been  ruthlessly  inter- 
rupted, but  the  melody  and  the  passion  of 
it  surged  on  in  his  blood  and  sang  aloud 
in  his  soul  as  he  rose,  and  with  two 
stealthy  steps  was  at  her  side  and  had  laid 
by  her  violin  and  bow  and  clasped  her 
hands  in  his. 

They  were  cold  and  trembling,  those 
small,  childlike  hands,  but  their  contact 
was  a  response  of  as  subtle  and  certain 
accord  as  violin  had  been  to  piano. 

She  did  not  speak,  but  for  one  instant 
she  looked  straight  into  his  eyes,  and  then 
her  own  eyes  fell. 

That  look  was  enough  ! 

"Sybil,"  he  said,  "you  love  me!" 
And  with  his  face  bent  close  to  her — that 
face  which  she  had  long  adored  through 
the  agonizing  protest  of  her  divided  heart 
— she  could  not  frame  the  words  by  which 
she  would  have  denied. 

"  You  love  me  !  "  he  said  again  ;  and 
now  his  arm  went  softly  round  her  waist, 
and  she  felt  her  being  girdled  with  a  sweet- 
130 


A  Realized  Ideal 

ness,  a  comfort,  a  delight,  beyond  any 
dream  or  reality  of  loving  that  had  ever 
come  to  her  before. 

"  You  love  me,  Sybil !  "  he  repeated,  as 
if  the  words  were  a  delight  which  he  could 
not  deny  himself.  "  Tell  me,  my  dar- 
ling." 

"  I  cannot,  oh,  I  cannot !  "  she  began, 
helplessly,  and  her  breaths  came  thick,  as 
if  from  rising  sobs. 

"Then  do  not,"  he  said.  "  You  need 
not  speak.  I  only  ask  you  to  listen." 

It  was  enough  that  she  did  not  draw 
away  from  him,  that  he  could  feel  the 
weight  of  her  weak,  sweet  body  willingly 
surrendered  to  his  strength. 

"  If  you  will  not  tell  me  that  you  love 
me,  Sybil,  then  hear  how  I  love  you  !  I 
cannot  remember  when  I  did  not  have  an 
ideal  woman  in  my  soul  and  my  mind  and 
my  heart.  She  was  so  real  and  distinct  to 
me  that  I  should  have  felt  it  sacrilege  to 
ask  any  other  woman  to  be  my  wife,  and 
I  never  did.  I  always  knew  that  I  should 


A  Realized  Ideal 

recognize  her  instantly,  if  I  should  ever 
see  her,  and  so  I  did.  When  I  saw  you  at 
the  altar  about  to  be  married  to  another 
man,  I  knew  you  for  that  woman,  and  I 
gave  you  up  forever.  Your  wedding  was 
a  ceremony  of  solemn  renunciation  for  me. 
But  God  had  made  us  for  each  other,  and 
his  will  and  work  have  triumphed.  Long 
ago  I  realized  my  dedication  to  you.  Do 
you  at  last  realize  yours  to  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know  it  is  so. 
It  is  the  highest  revelation  that  has  ever 
been  given  to  my  soul.  I  dare  not  disre- 
gard it." 

Her  voice  was  so  solemn,  her  face  in 
the  dim  light  so  austere  in  its  pale  beauty, 
that  the  fever  in  the  man's  blood  cried  out 
in  protest  at  the  restrictions  he  had  laid 
upon  himself. 

"  Sybil,  Sybil,"  he  said,  "  do  you  want 
to  disregard  it  ?  Are  you  taking  me  from 
a  sense  of  duty,  when  my  heart  is  bursting 
for  the  love  of  you  ?  " 

He  drew  her  close  against  him  and 
132 


A  Realized  Ideal 

bent  to  read  her  eyes.  There  was  no 
concealment  of  their  message. 

As  that  gaze  of  passionate  and  unre- 
stricted love  flashed  into  his,  the  lips  of 
each  sought  each,  and  clung  together  in  a 
kiss  of  union,  wherein  body,  soul,  and 
mind  had  each  an  equal  part. 

"  My  God,  how  wonderful!  "  he  said, 
as  they  drew  apart  from  that  long  kiss. 
"  And  it  is  this  that  God  has  given  men 
and  women  !  Oh  that  they  would  only 
live  up  to  their  high  privilege  !  " 

"  Philip,  Philip,  Philip  !  "  was  all  that 
she  said,  but  it  was  as  if  the  voice 
of  love  spoke  through  her,  and  called 
him  by  the  name  with  which  he  was 
crowned  king  through  the  consecration  of 
that  kiss. 

"  Come  out  with  me  under  the  stars," 
he  said,  "  where  an  hour  ago  I  was  alone 
in  my  passionate  longing  for  you,  doubting 
God's  goodness  and  favor  toward  me  !  I 
did  wrong  to  doubt.  It  was  for  this  that 
he  created  me,  and  you,  too,  my  Sybil, 
J33 


A  Realized  Ideal 

though  we  have  come  to  it  through  strange 
and  winding  ways  !  " 

When  they  were  there  alone  together  in 
the  silent  night  time,  flecked  by  the  silver 
lights  that  penetrated  the  shadows,  screened 
by  the  fragrant  trees,  their  footsteps  stilled 
by  the  tender  grass,  he  stopped,  and  took 
her  once  more  into  his  arms.  But  that 
moment's  pure  delight  was  suddenly 
pierced  by  a  pang  of  pain. 

"  You  said  you  might  be  going  away  ! " 
she  whispered,  her  voice  trembling. 

A  low  laugh  answered  her. 

"  Not  now  !  "  he  said.  "If  you  had 
denied  me  I  should  have  gone,  for  a  time 
at  least,  though  I  should  never  have  given 
you  up.  Now  we  shall  never  part  again, 
for  this  world  or  the  next.  Surely,  if  love 
and  faith  mean  anything  they  mean  that 
such  a  love  as  ours  is  for  eternity  as  well  as 
time,  for  those  whom  God  has  joined  to- 
gether he  will  not  put  asunder  !  " 

And  Sybil,  as  she  gave  herself  to  the 
sweet  joy  of  his  embrace,  looked  deep 


A  Realized  Ideal 

into  her  soul  with  a  new  light  by  which 
all  things  were  justified  —  the  past,  for- 
ever sacred  as  it  was  ;  the  present,  brighter 
with  bliss  than  any  dream  had  ever  pic- 
tured ;  and  the  future,  which,  coming  out 
of  these,  and  being  the  result  of  God's 
great  plan  in  making  men  and  women  for 
each  other,  must  be  a  heaven  above,  only 
one  step  removed  from  the  heaven  on 
earth  into  which  they  were  entered  now  ! 

THE    END. 


135 


ADVERTISEMENT     OF    "  MENTICULTURE." 

"Menticulture "  was  first  issued  in  a  sufficiently 
modest  way.  It  described  a  personal  experience 
which  has  been  of  inestimable  value  to  the  author. 
The  revelation  to  him  of  the  possibility  of  the  absolute 
elimination  of  the  seeds  of  unhappiness  has  changed 
life  from  a  period  of  constant  struggle  to  a  period  of 
security  and  repose,  and  has  insured  delightful  real- 
ities instead  of  uncertain  possibilities.  One  hundred 
and  fifty  copies  of  the  book  were  privately  printed, 
and  entitled  "TheAB  C  of  True  Living."  It  also 
carried  within  its  pages  the  title  of  "  Emancipation." 

The  suggestion  met  with  such  hearty  appreciation 
on  the  part  of  personal  friends  in  many  various  walks 
of  life,  that  a  public  edition  was  proposed,  and  the 
name  of  "Menticulture,"  a  name  that  had  to  be  coined 
for  the  purpose,  was  chosen  for  it. 

The  aptness  of  the  suggestion  has  been  evidenced 
by  the  approval  of  the  brotherhood  at  large  by  ap- 
preciative notices  in  many  of  the  leading  periodicals 
of  the  country,  by  the  receipt  of  more  than  a  thou- 
sand personal  letters  by  the  author,  many  of  them  at- 
testing to  greatest  benefits  growing  out  of  the  new 
point  of  view  of  life  suggested  by  the  book,  and  by 
very  large  sales. 

One  gentleman — altruist — whose  name  is  W.  J. 
Van  Patten,  found  the  suggestion  contained  in  "Men- 
ticulture "  so  helpful  to  himself  and  friends  that  he 
purchased  a  special  edition  of  two  thousand  copies  of 
the  book  for  distribution  in  his  home  city  of  Burling- 
ton, Vermont,  one  to  each  household,  with  the  idea  of 
accentuating  the  suggestion  by  widespread  inter- 
discussion.  The  special  Burlington  edition  has  an 
inset  page  bearing  Mr.  Van  Patten's  raison  d'etre 
for  the  distribution,  which  reads  as  follows: 


PERSONAL  NOTE. 

Some  time  in  the  early  part  of  the  year  1896  a  friend 
sent  me  a  copy  of  "  Menticulture."  I  read  it  with 
interest,  and  became  convinced  that  I  could  apply  its 
truths  to  my  own  life  with  profit.  Experience  con- 
firmed my  faith  in  the  power  of  its  principles  to  over- 
come many  of  the  most  annoying  and  damaging  ills 
that  are  common  to  humanity. 

I  procured  a  number  of  copies  from  time  to  time 
and  gave  to  friends  who  I  felt  would  appreciate  it. 
The  universal  testimony  to  the  good  which  the  little 
book  did,  and  the  new  strength  of  purpose  and  will  it 
gave  to  some  who  were  sore  beset  with  the  cares  and 
worries  of  life,  increased  my  interest  and  my  confi- 
dence in  the  truths  set  forth. 

I  formed  the  idea  of  making  an  experiment  by  giv- 
ing the  book  a  general  distribution  in  our  city,  to  see 
if  it  would  not  promote  the  general  good  and  happi- 
ness of  people. 

I  wrote  to  the  author,  Mr.  Fletcher,  and  he  entered 
into  the  plan  very  cordially,  and  had  this  special  edi- 
tion prepared  for  me.  The  object  which  we  hope  to 
gain  is  to  turn  the  thoughts  and  purposes  of  those 
whom  we  reach  to  the  old  truths  taught  by  Christ,  and 
a  determination  to  live  above  those  evils  which  do  so 
much  to  make  our  lives  unhappy  for  ourselves  and 
annoying  to  those  about  us. 

I  would  ask,  therefore,  that  you  would  kindly  give 
the  book  careful  and  thoughtful  reading,  and,  when 
you  have  opportunity,  recommend  it  to  your  friends. 

W.  J.  VAN  PATTEN. 


PERSONAL   NOTE. 

Mr.  Van  Patten  is  a  prominent  manufacturer  of 
Vermont,  and  was  recently  Mayor  of  Burlington  for 
two  years.  He  is  also  prominent  in  the  Christian  En- 
deavorer  movement,  having  been  the  first  president 
of  the  United  Society,  and  being  at  present  one  of  its 
trustees,  as  well  as  the  president  of  the  Congrega- 
tional Club  of  western  Vermont. 

"Menticulture  "  has  found  favor  among  physicians, 
and  also  with  life-insurance  companies,  obviously 
because  of  the  live-saving  quality  of  the  suggestions 
contained  in  it. 


THE  PUBLICATIONS  OF 
HERBERT  S.  STONE 
&  CO.  THE  CHAP-BOOK 
The  HOUSE  BEAUTIFUL 


CAXTON   BUILDING,  CHICAGO 

in  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 

1898 


CAXTON  BUILDING,   CHICAGO 
III  FIFTH  AVE.,  NEW  YORK 

THE  PUBLICATIONS  OF 
HERBERT  S.  STONE 
&  CO.  THE  CHAP-BOOK 
The  HOUSE  BEAUTIFUL 


Ade,  George. 

ARTIE  :  A  Story  of  the  Streets  and  of  the 
Town.  With  many  pictures  by  JOHN  T. 
McCuTCHEON.  i6mo.  $1.25. 

Ninth  thousand. 

"  Mr.  Ade  shows  all  the  qualities  of  a  successful 
novelist." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Artie  is  a  character,  and  George  Ade  has 
limned  him  deftly  as  well  as  amusingly.  Under 
his  rollicking  abandon  and  recklessness  we  are 
made  to  feel  the  real  sense  and  sensitiveness,  and 
the  worldly  wisdom  of  a  youth  whose  only  lan- 
guage is  that  of  a  street-gamin.  As  a  study  of  the 
peculiar  type  chosen,  it  is  both  typical  and  inimi- 
table."— Detroit  Free  Press. 

"It  is  brim  full  of  fun  and  picturesque  slang. 
Nobody  will  be  any  the  worse  for  reading  about 
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these  things  have  n't  yet  gone  out  of  style,  even  in 
Chicago." — Ne-w  Tork  Recorder. 


"Well-meaning  admirers  have  compared  Artie 
to  Chimmie  Fadden,  but  Mr.  Townsend's  creation, 
excellent  as  it  is,  cannot  be  said  to  be  entirely  free 
from  exaggeration.  The  hand  of  Chimmie  Fad- 
den's  maker  is  to  be  discerned  at  times.  And  just 
here  Artie  is  particularly  strong — he  is  always 
Artie,  and  Mr.  Ade  is  always  concealed,  and  never 
obtrudes  his  personality." — Chicago  Post. 

"  George  Ade  is  a  writer,  the  direct  antithesis  of 
Stephen  Crane.  In  'Artie  '  he  has  given  the  world 
a  story  of  the  streets  at  once  wholesome,  free,  and 
stimulating.  The  world  is  filled  with  people  like 
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and  the  story  of  their  lives,  their  hopes,  and 
dreams,  and  loves,  is  immeasurably  more  whole- 
some than  all  the  stories  like  'George's  Mother' 
that  could  be  written  by  an  army  of  the  writers 
who  call  themselves  realists." — Editorial,  Albany 
Evening  fournal. 

Ade,  George. 

PINK  MARSH  :  A  Story  of  the  Streets  and 
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"Here  is  a  perfect  triumph  of  characterization. 
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"These  sprightly  sketches  do  for  the  Northern 
town  negro  what  Mr.  Joel  Chandler  Harris's 


'  Uncle  Remus  Papers'  have  done  for  the  South- 
ern old  plantation  slave." — The  Independent. 

"  It  is  some  time  since  we  have  met  with  a  more 
amusing  character  than  is 'Pink  Marsh,'  or  to 
give  him  his  full  title,  William  Pinckney  Marsh, of 
Chicago.  *  *  *  '  Pink' is  not  the  conventional 
'coon 'of  the  comic  paper  and  the  variety  hall, 
but  a  genuine  flesh  and  blood  type,  presented 
with  a  good  deal  of  literary  and  artistic  skill." — 
Neiv  1'ork  Sun. 

"The  man  who  can  bring  a  new  type  into  the 
literature  of  the  day  is  very  near  a  genius,  if  he 
does  nothing  else.  For  that  reason  Mr.  George 
Ade,  the  chronicler  of  'Artie,'  the  street  boy  of 
Chicago,  did  a  rather  remarkable  thing  when  he 
put  that  young  man  into  a  book.  Now  Mr.  Ade 
has  given  us  a  new  character,  and  to  me  a  much 
more  interesting  one,  because  I  do  not  remember 
having  met  him  face  to  face  in  literature  be- 
fore.— Cincinnati  Commercial  Tribune, 

Benham,  Charles. 

THE  FOURTH  NAPOLEON:    A  Romance. 
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An  accurate  account  of  the  history  of  the  Fourth 
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his  love  intrigues  as  emperor.  A  vivid  picture  of 
contemporary  politics  in  Paris. 

Bickford,  L.  H. 

(and  Richard  Stillman  Powell.) 
PHYLLIS  IN  BOHEMIA.  With  pictures 
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a  cover  designed  by  FRANK  HAZENPLUG. 
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Sentimental  comedy  of  the  lightest  kind.  It  is 
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Blossom,  Henry  M.,  Jr. 

CHECKERS:  A  Hard- Luck  Story.  By 
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"'  Checkers'  is  an  interesting  and  entertaining 
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way  of  saying  things  that  is  oddly  humorous." — 
Chicago  Record. 

"  If  I  had  to  ride  from  New  York  to  Chicago  on 
a  slow  train,  I  should  like  a  half  dozen  books  as 
gladsome  as  'Checkers,'  and  I  could  laugh  at  the 
trip." — Ne-w  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

" '  Checkers  '  himself  is  as  distinct  a  creation  as 
Chimmie  Fadden,  and  his  racy  slang  expresses  a 
livelier  wit.  The  racing  part  is  clever  reporting, 
and  as  horsey  and  'up  to  date'  as  any  one  could 
ask.  The  slang  of  the  racecourse  is  caught  with 
skill  and  is  vivid  and  picturesque,  and  students  of 
the  byways  of  language  may  find  some  new  gems 
of  colloquial  speech  to  add  to  their  lexicons." — 
Springfield  Republican. 


Bloundelle-Burton,  John. 

ACROSS  THE  SALT  SEAS  :  A  Romance  of 
the  War  of  Succession.  By  the  author  of 
"In  the  Day  of  Adversity ,"  '•'-The  Hispan- 
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In  "  The  Hispaniola  Plate"  Mr.  Burton  showed 
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is  the  battle  of  Vigo  and  the  looting  of  the  Spanish 
galleons.  The  hero  escapes  through  Spain  in  an 
attempt  to  reach  Marlborough  in  Flanders,  and 
has  many  exciting  though  not  improbable  adven- 
tures. Any  one  who  cares  for  good  fighting,  and 
in  whose  ears  the  "sack  of  Maracaibo"  and  the 
"fall  of  Panama"  have  an  alluring  sound,  will 
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Chap-Book  Essays. 

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The  authors  of  this  volume  are  all  American 
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time.  The  volume  is  bound  in  an  entirely  new 
and  startling  fashion. 

Chatfield-Taylor,  H.  C. 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  CASTANET:  Span- 
ish Sketches,  with  twenty -five  full-page 
illustrations.  I2mo.  $1.25. 

"  Gives  the  reader  an  insight  into  the  life  of 
Spain  at  the  present  time  which  he  cannot  get 
elsewhere." — Cincinnati  Commercial  Tribune. 

"  Mr.  Chatfield-Taylor's  word-painting  of  special 
events — the  bull-fight  for  instance — is  vivid  and 
well  colored.  He  gets  at  the  national  character 
very  well  indeed,  and  we  feel  that  we  know  our 
Spain  better  by  reason  of  his  handsome  little 
book." — Boston  Traveler. 

"He  writes  pleasantly  and  impartially, and  very 
fairly  sums  up  the  Spanish  character.  *  *  *  Mr. 
Taylor's  book  is  well  illustrated,  and  is  more  read- 
able than  the  reminiscences  of  the  average  globe- 
trotter."— Ne-vj  York  Sun. 


Chatfield-Taylor,  H.  C. 

THE  VICE  OF  FOOLS:  A  Novel  of  Society 
Life  in  Washington.  By  the  author  or 
"  The  Land  of  the  Castanet  "  u  Two 
Women  and  a  Foo!^"  "  An  American 
Peeress"  etc.  With  ten  full  page  pictures 
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The  great  success  of  Mr.  Chatfield-Taylor's  so- 
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new  story.  It  can  hardly  be  denied  that  few  per- 
sons in  this  country  are  better  qualified  to  treat 
the  "  smart  set "  in  various  American  cities,  and 
the  life  in  diplomatic  circles  offers  an  unusually 
picturesque  opportunity. 

D'Annunzio,  Gabrieie. 

EPISCOPO  AND  COMPANY.  Translated 
by  Myrta  Leonora  Jones.  i6mo.  $1.25. 

Third  edition. 

Gabrieie  d'Annunzio  is  the  best  known  and 
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rary circles.  The  translation  now  offered  gave 
the  first  opportunity  English-speaking  readers 
had  to  know  him  in  their  own  language. 

De  Fontenoy,  The  Marquise. 

EVE'S  GLOSSARY.  By  the  author  of"£hieer 
Sprigs  of  Gentility  "  with  decorations  in 
two  colors  by  FRANK  HAZ.ENPLUG.  ^.to. 

$3-5°- 

8 


An  amusing  volume  of  gossip  and  advice  for 
gentlewomen.  It  treats  of  health,  costume,  and 
entertainments;  exemplifies  by  reference  to  noted 
beauties  of  England  and  the  Continent;  and  is 
embellished  with  decorative  borders  of  great 
charm. 


Earle,  Alice  Morse. 

CURIOUS  PUNISHMENTS  OF  BYGONE 
DAYS,  with  twelve  quaint  pictures  and  a 
cover  design  by  FRANK  HAZENPLUG. 
I2mo.  $1.50. 

"In  this  dainty  little  volume  Alice  Morse  Earle 
has  done  a  real  service,  not  only  to  present  read- 
ers, but  to  future  students  of  bygone  customs.  To 
come  upon  all  the  information  that  is  here  put 
into  readable  shape,  one  would  be  obliged  to  search 
through  many  ancient  and  cumbrous  records." — 
Boston  Transcript, 

"Mrs.  Alice  Morse  Earle  has  made  a  diverting 
and  edifying  book  in  her  '  Curious  Punishments 
of  Bygone  Days,'  which  is  published  in  a  style  of 
quaintness  befitting  the  theme." — New  Tork 
Tribune. 

"This  light  and  entertaining  volume  is  the  most 
recent  of  Mrs.Earle's  popular  antiquarian  sketches, 
and  will  not  fail  to  amuse  and  mildly  instruct 
readers  who  love  to  recall  the  grim  furnishings  and 
habits  of  previous  centuries,  without  too  much 
serious  consideration  of  the  root  from  which  they 
sprang,  the  circumstances  in  which  they  flour- 
ished, or  the  uses  they  served." — The  Independent. 


Embree,  Charles  Fleming. 

FOR  THE  LOVE  OF  TONITA,  AND  OTHER 

TALES  OF  THE  MESAS.  With  a  cover 
designed  by  FERNAND  LUNGREN.  i6mo. 
$1-25. 

Characteristic  and  breezy  stories  of  the  South- 
west, by  a  new  author.  Full  of  romantic  interest 
and  with  an  unusually  humorous  turn.  The  book 
coming  from  a  new  writer,  is  likely  to  be  a  real 
surprise.  The  cover  is  an  entirely  new  experi- 
ment in  bookbinding. 

Fletcher,  Horace. 

HAPPINESS  AS  FOUND  IN  FORETHOUGHT 
MINUS  FEARTHOUGHT,  AND  OTHER 
SUGGESTIONS  IN  MENTICULTURE.  i2mo. 

$1.00. 

The  enormous  popularity  of  Mr.  Fletcher's 
simple  philosophy,  as  shown  in  the  sale  of  his 
first  volume,  "  Menticulture  "  is  a  sufficient  evi- 
dence of  the  prospects  of  the  new  book.  In  it  he 
develops  further  the  ideas  of  menticulture,  and 
urges  with  energy  and  directness  his  plea  for  the 
avoidance  of  worry. 

Fletcher,  Horace. 

MENTICULTURE  :  or  the  A-E-C  of  True 
Living.  I2mo.  $I.OO. 

Nineteenth  thousand. 

Transferred  by  the  author  to  the  present  publishers, 
10 


Gordon,  Julien 

EAT  NOT  THY  HEART:  A  Novel,  By 
the  author  of"  A  Diplomat's  Diary ,"  etc. 
l6mo,  $1.25. 

Life  on  Long  Island  at  a  luxurious  country 
place,  is  the  setting  for  this  story,  and  Mrs. 
Cruger's  dialogue  is  as  crisp,  as  witty,  as  satirical 
of  the  foibles  of  fashionable  life  as  ever.  She  has 
tried  a  new  experiment,  however,  in  making  a 
study  of  a  humbler  type,  the  farmer's  wife,  and 
her  ineffectual  jealousy  of  the  rich  city  people. 

Hapgood,  Norman. 

LITERARY  STATESMEN  AND  OTHERS. 
A  book  of  essays  on  men  seen  from  a  distance. 
I2mo.  $1.50. 

Essays  from  one  of  our  younger  writers,  who  is 
already  well  known  as  a  man  of  promise,  and  who 
has  been  given  the  unusual  distinction  of  starting 
his  career  by  unqualified  acceptance  from  the  En- 
glish reviews.  Scholarly,  incisive,  and  thought- 
ful essays  which  will  be  a  valuable  contribution  to 
contemporary  criticism. 


Hichens,  Robert. 

FLAMES:  A  Novel.  By  the  author  of"  A 
Green  Carnation"  u  An  Imaginative 
Man"  "  The  Folly  of  Eustace,"  etc.,  with 
a  cover  design  by  F.  R.  KlMBROUGH. 
I2mo.  $1.50.  Second  edition. 


"The  book  is  sure  to  be  widely  read." — Buffalo 
Commercial. 

"  It  carries  on  the  attention  of  the  reader  from 
the  first  chapter  to  the  last.  Full  of  exciting  in- 
cidents, very  modern,  excessively  up  to  date." — 
London  Daily  Telegraph. 

"  In  his  last  book  Mr.  Hichens  has  entirely 
proved  himself.  His  talent  does  not  so  much  lie 
in  the  conventional  novel,  but  more  in  his  strange 
and  fantastic  medium.  '  Flames' suits  him,  has 
him  at  his  best." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"'Flames,*  "  says  the  London  Chronicle,  in  a  long 
editorial  on  the  story,  "  is  a  cunning  blend  of  the 
romantic  and  the  real,  the  work  of  a  man  who  can 
observe,  who  can  think,  who  can  imagine,  and  who 
can  write." 

"'Flames'  is  a  powerful  story,  not  only  for  the 
novelty  of  its  plot,  but  for  the  skill  with  which  it 
is  worked  out,  the  brilliancy  of  its  descriptions  of 
the  London  streets,  of  the  seamy  side  of  the  city's 
life  which  night  turns  to  the  beholder;  but  the 
descriptions  are  neither  erotic  nor  morbid.  *  *  * 
We  may  repudiate  the  central  idea  of  soul-trans- 
ference, but  the  theory  is  made  the  vehicle  of 
this  striking  tale  in  a  manner  that  is  entirely  sane 
and  wholesome.  It  leaves  no  bad  taste  in  the 
mouth.  *  *  *  'Flames' — it  is  the  author's 
fancy  that  the  soul  is  like  a  little  flame,  and  hence 
the  title — must  be  read  with  care.  There  is  much 
brilliant  epigrammatic  writing  in  it  that  will 
delight  the  literary  palate.  It  is  far  and  away 
ahead  of  anything  that  Mr.  Hichens  has  ever  writ- 
ten before." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

James,  Henry. 

WHAT  MAISIE  KNEW  :  A  novel.   I2mo. 
$1-50. 

12 


The  publication  of  a  new  novel — one  quite  un- 
like his  previous  work — by  Mr.  Henry  James, 
cannot  fail  to  be  an  event  of  considerable  literary 
importance.  During  its  appearance  in  the  Chap- 
Book,  the  story  has  been  a  delight  to  many  read- 
ers. As  the  first  study  of  child-life  which  Mr. 
James  has  ever  attempted,  it  is  worth  the  attention 
of  all  persons  interested  in  English  and  American 
letters. 

Kinross,  Albert. 

THE  FEARSOME  ISLAND  ;  Being  a  mod- 
ern rendering  of  the  narrative  of  one 
Silas  Fordred,  Master  Mariner  of  Hythe, 
whose  shipwreck  and  subsequent  adventures 
are  herein  set  forth.  Also  an  appendix, 
accounting,  in  a  rational  manner,  for  the 
seeming  marvels  that  Silas  Fordred  en- 
countered during  his  sojourn  on  the  fearsome 
island  of  Don  Diego  Rodriguez.  With  a 
cover  designed  by  FRANK  HAZENPLUG. 
i6mo.  $1.25. 

Le  Gallienne,  Richard. 

PROSE  FANCIES  :  Second  series.  By  the 
author  of " The  Book-Bills  of  Narcissus" 
"  The  guest  of  the  Golden  Girl,"  etc. 
With  a  cover  designed  by  FRANK  HAZEN- 
PLUG. idmo.  $1.25.  Second  edition. 

"  In  these  days  of  Beardsley  pictures  and  deca- 
dent novels,  it  is  good  to  find  a  book  as  sweet,  as 

13 


pure,  as   delicate   as   Mr.  Le   Gallienne's." — New 
Orleans  Picayune. 

"'Prose  Fancies'  ought  to  be  in  every  one's 
summer  library,  for  it  is  just  the  kind  of  a  book 
one  loves  to  take  to  some  secluded  spot  to  read 
and  dream  over." — Kansas  City  Times. 

"There  are  witty  bits  of  sayings  by  the  score, 
and  sometimes  whole  paragraphs  of  nothing  but 
wit.  Somewhere  there  is  a  little  skit  about  '  Scot- 
land, the  country  that  takes  its  name  from  the 
whisky  made  there';  and  the  transposed  proverbs, 
like  '  It  is  an  ill  wind  for  the  shorn  lamb,'  and 
'  Many  rise  on  the  stepping-stones  of  their  dead 
relations,'  are  brilliant.  'Most  of  us  would  never 
be  heard  of  were  it  not  for  our  enemies,'  is  a  cap- 
ital epigram." — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

"  Mr.  Le  Gallienne  is  first  of  all  a  poet,  and  these 
little  essays,  which  savor  somewhat  of  Lamb,  of 
Montaigne,  of  Lang,  and  of  Birrell,  are  larded 
with  verse  of  exquisite  grace.  He  rarely  ventures 
into  the  grotesque,  but  his  fancy  follows  fair 
paths;  a  certain  quaintness  of  expression  and  the 
idyllic  atmosphere  of  the  book  charm  one  at  the 
beginning  and  carry  one  through  the  nineteen 
'fancies'  that  comprise  the  volume," — Chicago 
Record. 

Magruder,  Julia. 

Miss  AYR  OF  VIRGINIA,  AND  OTHER 
STORIES.  By  the  author  of  "The  Princess 
Sonia,"  "  The  fiolet"  etc.  With  a 
cover-design  by  F.  R.  KIMBROUGH.  i6mo. 
$1.25. 

"By  means  of  original  incident  and  keen  por- 
traiture, '  Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia,  and  Other  Stories,1 


is  made  a  decidedly  readable  collection.  In  the 
initial  tale  the  character  of  the  young  Southern 
girl  is  especially  well  drawn;  Miss  Magruder's 
most  artistic  work,  however,  is  found  at  the  end 
of  the  volume,  under  the  title  '  Once  More.'" — The 
Outlook. 

"The  contents  of 'Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia'  are  not 
less  fascinating  than  the  cover.  *  *  *  These 
tales  *  *  *  are  a  delightful  diversion  for  a 
spare  hour.  They  are  dreamy  without  being  can- 
didly realistic,  and  are  absolutely  refreshing  in 
the  simplicity  of  the  author's  style." — Boston 
Herald. 

"Julia  Magruder's  stories  are  so  good  that  one 
feels  like  reading  passages  here  and  there  again 
and  again.  In  the  collection,  '  Miss  Ayr  of  Vir- 
ginia, and  other  stories,'  she  is  at  her  best,  and 
'Miss  Ayr  of  Virginia,'  has  all  the  daintiness,  the 
point  and  pith  and  charm  which  the  author  so 
well  commands.  The  portraiture  of  a  sweet,  un- 
sophisticated, pretty,  smart  Southern  girl  is  be- 
witching." — Min  neapolis  Times. 

Malet,  Lucas. 

THE  CARISSIMA  :  A  modern  grotesque. 
By  the  author  of  "  The  Wages  of  Sin," 
etc.  I2mo.  $1.50.  Second  edition. 

*#*This  is  the  first  novel  which  Lucas  Malet 
has  written  since  "The  Wages  of  Sin." 

"The  strongest  piece  of  fiction  written  during 
the  year,  barring  only  the  masters,  Meredith  and 
Thomas  Hardy." — Kansas  City  Star. 

"There  are  no  dull  pages  in 'The  Carissima,'  no 
perfunctory  people.  Every  character  that  goes  in 
and  out  on  the  mimic  stage  is  fully  rounded,  and 
the  central  one  provokes  curiosity,  like  those  of 

15 


that  Sphinx  among  novelists,  Mr.  Henry  James. 
Lucas  Malet  has  caught  the  very  trick  of  James's 
manner,  and  the  likeness  presses  more  than 
once." — Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

"The  interest  throughout  the  story  is  intense 
and  perfectly  sustained.  The  character-drawing 
is  as  good  as  it  can  be.  The  Carissima,  her  father, 
and  a  journalistic  admirer  are,  in  particular,  abso- 
lute triumphs.  The  book  is  wonderfully  witty, 
and  has  touches  of  genuine  pathos,  more  than  two 
and  more  than  three.  It  is  much  better  than  any- 
thing else  we  have  seen  from  the  same  hand." — 
Pall  Matt  Gazette. 

"Lucas  Malet  has  insight,  strength,  the  gift  of 
satire,  and  a  captivating  brilliance  of  touch;  in 
short,  a  literary  equipment  such  as  not  too  many 
present-day  novelists  are  possessed  of." — London 
Daily  Mail. 

"  We  cannot  think  of  readers  as  skipping  a  line 
or  failing  to  admire  the  workmanship,  or  to  be 
deeply  interested,  both  in  the  characters  and  the 
plot.  'Carissima' is  likely  to  add  to  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  author  of  '  The  Wages  of  Sin.'"— Glas- 
gow Herald. 

Merrick,  Leonard. 

ONE  MAN'S  VIEW.  By  the  author  of 
"A  Daughter  of  the  Philistines"  etc. 
i6mo.  $1.00. 

The  story  of  an  ambitious  American  girl  and 
her  attempts  to  get  on  the  English  stage,  her  mar- 
riage and  subsequent  troubles,  and  the  final  hap- 
piness of  every  one.  The  author's  point  of  view 
and  the  story  itself  are  unusual  and  interesting. 

"  Very  well  told."— The  Outlook. 
16 


"Clever  and  original." — Charleston  News  and 
Courier. 

"  Eminently  readable." — New  Orleans  Times- 
Democrat. 

"  A  highly  emotional,  sensational  story  of  much 
literary  merit." — Chicago  Inter  Ocean. 

"A  novel  over  which  we  could  fancy  ourselves 
sitting  up  till  the  small  hours."  —  London  Daily 
Chronicle. 

"  A  really  remarkable  piece  of  fiction  *  *  * 
a  saving  defense  against  dullness  that  may  come 
in  vacation  times." — Kansas  City  Star. 

Moore,  F.  Frankfort. 

THE     IMPUDENT    COMEDIAN    AND 
OTHERS.     Illustrated.      I2mo.      $1.50. 

"Several  of  the  stories  have  appeared  in  the 
Chap-Book;  others  are  now  published  for  the  first 
time.  They  all  relate  to  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth century  characters  —  Nell  Gwynn,  Kitty 
Clive,  Oliver  Goldsmith,  Dr.  Johnson,  and  David 
Garrick.  They  are  bright,  witty,  and  dramatic. 

"Capital  short  stories." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  A  thing  of  joy." — Buffalo  Express. 

"The  person  who  has  a  proper  eye  to  the  artis- 
tic in  fiction  will  possess  them  ere  another  day  shall 
dawn." — Scranton  Tribune. 

"Full  of  the  mannerisms  of  the  stage  and  thor- 
oughly Bohemian  in  atmosphere." — Boston  Herald. 

"The  celebrated  actresses  whom  he  takes  for 
his  heroines  sparkle  with  feminine  liveliness  of 
mind." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  A  collection  of  short  stories  which  has  a  flash 
of  the  picturesqueness,  the  repartee,  the  dazzle  of 

'7 


the  age  of  Garrick  and  Goldsmith,  of  Peg  Wof- 
fington  and  Kitty  Clive." — Hartford  Courant. 

"The  stories  are  well  conceived  and  amusing, 
bearing  upon  every  page  the  impress  of  an  inti- 
mate study  of  the  fascinating  period  wherein  they 
are  laid."—  The  Dial. 

"Mr.  F.  Frankfort  Moore  had  a  capital  idea 
when  he  undertook  to  throw  into  story  form  some 
of  the  traditional  incidents  of  the  history  of  the 
stage  in  its  earlier  English  days.  Nell  Gwynn, 
Kitty  Clive,  Mrs.  Siddons,  Mrs.  Abington,  and 
others  are  cleverly  depicted,  with  much  of  the 
swagger  and  flavor  of  their  times." — The  Outlook. 

Moore,  F.  Frankfort. 

THE  JESSAMY  BRIDE  :  A  Novel.  By 
the  author  of"  The  Impudent  Comedian." 
I2mo.  $1.50. 

A  novel  of  great  interest,  introducing  as  its 
chief  characters  Goldsmith,  Johnson,  Garrick, 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  and  others.  It  is  really  a 
companion  volume  to  "The  Impudent  Comedian." 
The  first  large  English  edition  of  "The  Jessamy 
Bride  "  was  exhausted  before  publication.  The 
great  popularity  of  his  other  books  is  sufficient 
guaranty  of  the  entertaining  qualities  of  this  latest 
volume. 

"Admirably  done." — Detroit  Free. Press. 

"It  is  doubtful  if  anything  he  has  written  will 
be  as  well  and  at.  widely  appreciated  as  'The 
Jessamy  Bride.'  " — Kansas  City  Times. 

"This  story  seems  to  me  the  strongest  and  sin- 
cerest  bit  of  fiction  I  have  read  since  '  Quo 
Vadis.' " — George  Merriam  Hyde  in  The  Book 
Buyer. 

18 


"A  novel  in  praise  of  the  most  lovable  of  men 
of  letters,  not  even  excepting  Charles  Lamb, must 
be  welcome,  though  in  it  the  romance  of  Gold- 
smith's life  may  be  made  a  little  too  much  of  for 
strict  truth  *  *  *  Mr.  Moore  has  the  history 
of  the  time  and  of  the  special  circle  at  his  finger- 
ends.  He  has  lived  in  its  atmosphere,  and  his 
transcripts  are  full  of  vivacity.  *  *  *  'The 
Jessamy  Bride  '  is  a  very  good  story,  and  Mr. 
Moore  has  never  written  anything  else  so  chival- 
rous to  man  or  woman." — The  Bookman. 

Morrison,  Arthur. 

A  CHILD  OF  THE  JAGO.  By  the  author 
of  "  Tales  of  Mean  Streets."  I2mo. 
$1.50.  Second  edit  to  n . 

"  The  book  is  a  masterpiece." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"The  unerring  touch  of  a  great  artist." — London 
Daily  Graphic. 

"  Told  with  great  vigour  and  powerful  simplic- 
ity."— Athenezttm. 

"  Remarkable  power,  and  even  more  remarka- 
ble restraint." — London  Daily  Mail. 

"A  novel  that  will  rank  alone  as  a  picture  of 
low-class  London  life." — Ne-w  Saturday. 

"The  power  and  art  of  the  book  are  beyond 
question." — Hartford  Courant. 

"It  is  one  of  the  most  notable  books  of  the 
year." — Chicago  Daily  Ne-vas. 

"'A  Child  of  the  Jago'will  prove  one  of  the 
immediate  and  great  successes  of  the  season." — 
Boston  Times. 

"The  description  of  the  great  fight  between 
Josh  Perrott  and  Billy  Leary  is  a  masterpiece." 
— Punch. 

19 


"Never,  certainly,  a  book  with  such  a  scene  on 
which  so  much  artistic  care  has  been  lavished. 
*  *  The  reader  has  no  choice  but  to  be  con- 
vinced."— Review  of  Reviews. 

"Mr.  Arthur  Morrison  has  already  distinguished 
himself  (in  his  Tales  of  Mean  Streets)  as  a  deline- 
ator of  the  lives  of  the  East  -  end  poor,  but  his 
present  book  takes  a  deeper  hold  on  us." — London 
Times. 

"Is  indeed  indisputably  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting novels  this  year  has  produced.  *  *  One 
of  those  rare  and  satisfactory  novels  in  which 
almost  every  sentence  has  its  share  in  the  entire 
design." — Saturday  Review. 

"  Since  Daniel  Defoe,  no  such  consummate 
master  of  realistic  fiction  has  arisen  among  us  as 
Mr.  Arthur  Morrison.  Hardly  any  praise  could 
be  too  much  for  the  imaginative  power  and  artis- 
tic perfection  and  beauty  of  this  picture  of  the  de- 
praved and  loathsome  phases  of  human  life. 
There  is  all  of  Defoe's  fidelity  of  realistic  detail, 
suffused  with  the  light  and  warmth  of  a  genius 
higher  and  purer  than  Defoe's." — Scotsman. 

"It  more  than  fulfills  the  promise  of  '  Tales  of 
Mean  Streets  ' — it  makes  you  confident  that  Mr. 
Morrison  has  yet  better  work  to  do.  The  power 
displayed  is  magnificent,  and  the  episode  of  the 
murder  of  Weech,  '  fence  '  and  '  nark,'  and  of  the 
capture  and  trial  of  his  murderer,  is  one  that 
stamps  itself  upon  the  memory  as  a  thing  done 
once  and  for  all.  Perrott  in  the  dock,  or  as  he 
awaits  the  executioner,  is  a  fit  companion  of  Fagin 
condemned.  The  book  cannot  but  confirm  the 
admirers  of  Mr.  Morrison's  remarkable  talent  in 
the  opinions  they  formed  on  reading  '  Tales  of 
Mean  Streets.'  "—Black  and  White. 

20 


Powell,  Richard  Stillman. 
(See  Bickford,  L.  H.) 

Pritchard,  Martin  J. 

WITHOUT  SIN:    A novel.    I2mo.  $1.50. 

Third  edition. 

*#*The  New  York  Journal  gave  a  half-page 
review  of  the  book  and  proclaimed  it  "  the  most 
startling  novel  yet." 

"Abounds  in  situations  of  thrilling  interest.  A 
unique  and  daring  book." — Revie-w  of  Reviews 
(London). 

"One  is  hardly  likely  to  go  far  wrong  in  pre- 
dicting that  '  Without  Sin'  will  attract  abundant 
notice.  Too  much  can  scarcely  be  said  in  praise 
of  Mr.  Pritchard's  treatment  of  his  subject." — 
Academy. 

"The  very  ingenious  way  in  which  improbable 
incidents  are  made  to  appear  natural,  the  ingenious 
manner  in  which  the  story  is  sustained  to  the  end, 
the  undoubted  fascination  of  the  writing  and  the 
convincing  charm  of  the  principal  characters,  are 
just  what  make  this  novel  so  deeply  dangerous 
while  so  intensely  interesting."  —  The  World 
(London). 

Pool,  Maria  Louise. 

IN  BUNCOMBE  COUNTY.    i6mo.    $1.25. 

Second  edition. 

"  '  In  Buncombe  County  '  is  bubbling  over  with 
merriment  —  one  could  not  be  blue  with  such  a 
companion  for  an  hour." — Boston  Times. 


"  Maria  Louise  Pool  is  a  joy  forever,  principally 
because  she  so  nobly  disproves  the  lurking  theory 
that  women  are  born  destitute  of  humor.  Hers  is 
not  acquired;  it  is  the  real  thing.  '  In  Buncombe 
County '  is  perfect  with  its  quiet  appreciation  of 
the  humorous  side  of  the  everyday  affairs  of  life." 
— Chicago  Daily  Neivs. 

"It  is  brimming  over  with  humor,  and  the 
reader  who  can  follow  the  fortunes  of  the  redbird 
alone,  who  flutters  through  the  first  few  chapters, 
and  not  be  moved  to  long  laughter,  must  be  sadly 
insensitive.  But  laugh  as  he  may,  he  will  always 
revert  to  the  graver  vein  which  unobtrusively 
runs  from  the  first  to  the  last  page  in  the  book. 
He  will  lay  down  the  narrative  of  almost  gro- 
tesque adventure  with  a  keen  remembrance  of  its 
tenderness  and  pathos." — New  York  Tribune. 

Raimond,  C.  E. 

THE  FATAL  GIFT  OF  BEAUTY,  AND 
OTHER  STORIES.  By  the  Author  of 
"  George  Mandevi  lie's  Husband,"  etc, 
idmo.  $1.25. 

A  book  of  stories  which  will  not  quickly  be  sur- 
passed for  real  humor,  skillful  characterization 
and  splendid  entertainment.  "The  Confessions 
of  a  Cruel  Mistress  "  is  a  masterpiece,  and  the 
"  Portman  Memoirs"  exceptionally  clever. 

Rossetti,  Christina. 

MAUDE  :  Prose  and  Verse.  With  a  pref- 
ace by  William  Michael  Rossetti.  i6mo. 

$I.OO. 


THE  CHAP-BOOK 

A  Semi -Monthly  Miscellany  and  Review  of  Belles-Lettres.  Price,  10 
cents  a  copy;  $2.00  a  year. 

"The  Chap-Book  is  indispensable.  In  its  new  form,  as  a  literary  re- 
view, it  fills  an  important  place  in  our  magazine  literature." — Rochester 
Post- Express. 

'  The  new  Chap-Book  is  an  imposing  and  inspiriting  production  to  take 
in  the  hands,  and  it  is  opened  with  an  anticipatory  zest  that  is  rewarded 
simply  by  a  reading  of  the  contents." — Providence  News, 

"  The  notes  are  vivacious  and  vigorous.  The  literary  quality  is  what 
one  has  a  right  to  expect  from  a  literary  journal,  and  we  heartily  welcome 
the  new  Chap-Book  toour  table." — The  Watchman. 

"  In  its  enlarged  form  the  magazine  has  taken  on  a  somewhat  more 
serious  aspect  than  it  carried  in  its  first  estate,  but  it  has  lost  none  of  its 
crispness  and  interest." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"As  we  glance  through  the  Chap-Book  we  are  newly  charmed  with 
the  excellence  of  its  book  reviews.  Of  course  it  has  other  features  of  interest 
—  notably  the  introductory  "notes"  that  give  in  a  genteel  way  the  freshest 
gossip  of  the  aristocracy  of  letters  —  but  for  our  part  we  turn  at  once  to  the 
book  reviews,  for  we  know  that  there  we  can  be  sure  of  being  at  once  in- 
structed and  entertained.  Whoever  they  are  that  produce  this  copy  —  and 
being  anonymous,  one  has  no  clue  —  they  deserve  rich  recompense  of  cakes 
and  wine,  and,  betimes,  a  lift  in  salary,  for  they  do  know  how  to  review." 
— Scranton  Tribune. 

THE  HOUSE  BEAUTIFUL 

A  Monthly  Magazine  devoted  to  Houses  and  Homes.  Articles  on  Rugs, 
Furniture,  Pottery,  Silverware,  and  Bookbindings;  Prints,  Engravings,  and 
Etchings;  Interior  and  Exterior  Decoration,  etc.  Abundantly  illustrated. 
It  is  a  magazine  of  general  interest,  and  appreciative  rather  than  technical 
in  character.  10  cents  a  copy;  $1.00  a  year.  Sample  copies  sent  for  five 
two- cent  stamps. 

"  The  House  Beautiful,  for  its  sincerity  of  purpose  and  dignified  ful- 
filment of  its  aim,  so  far,  should  be  highly  commended,  The  third  number 
contains  some  exquisite  illustrations.  *  *  Some  good  reviews  and 
notes  follow  the  articles,  and  a  really  useful  magazine,  in  a  fair  way  to  be- 
come well  established,  is  thus  kept  on  its  course." — Chicago  Times- Her  aid. 
"  Throughout,  this  magazine  is  governed  by  good  taste  to  a  degree  which 
is  almost  unique." — Indianapolis  News. 

"  There  is  room  for  a  magazine  like  The  House  Beauti/ui,  send  the 
third  number  of  that  excellent  monthly  indicates  that  the  void  is  in  a  fair 
way  to  be  filled.  In  addition  to  a  good  assortment  of  articles  on  practical 
questions  of  household  art  and  artisanship,  there  is  a  valuable  paper  by  W. 
Irving  Way  on  '  Women  and  Bookbinding'." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  The  House  Beautiful  is  the  title  of  the  new  monthly  which  deals 
principally  with  art  as  applied  to  industry  and  the  household.  *  *  It 
seems  to  be  a  magazine  which  will  have  a  permanent  use  and  interest." — 
Worcester  Spy. 

For  sale  by  all  Booksellers  and  Newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid, 
by  the  publishers,  on  receipt  of  price. 

HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  COMPANY 

Caxton  Bldg,  Chicago  Constable  Bldg.,  New  York 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  CO.  AT  THE  LAKESIDE 
PRESS,  CHICAGO,  MDCCCXCVIII 


A     000114912 


